


We're Fading Fast

by dashirun



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Police, M/M, Mafia AU, Minor Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen, Minor Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun, Minor Kim Minseok | Xiumin/Lu Han, OT12 EXO, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashirun/pseuds/dashirun
Summary: When top cop Yixing has to go undercover to infiltrate the notorious Wu Yifan’s mob, EXO, things don’t go quite as planned....





	1. coffee and cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [s_coups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_coups/gifts), [Batman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman/gifts).



> hello! so I recently deleted my old livejournal which contained the few full-length works I've created and I've decided to import my two favorites onto here because a) I spent a lot of time on them and I'm not quite ready to let them disappear into the void b) ari and teesta said I should so...
> 
> here is the first one! I originally wrote this for ari as part of a fic exchange run by teesta so .... this is for them!!

_Sometimes before it gets better_  
_The darkness gets bigger_  
_The person that you’d take a bullet for_  
_is behind the trigger_

Yifan had never thought of himself as a night person. His childhood was full of sunlight, of days spent lying out on cool grass when the air felt too hot and of warmth coating every inch of his skin as he ran through the woods by his home. If you had asked him his favorite time of day, he would have told you it was high noon when the sun was at its brightest and the leaves on the trees glowed as light cascaded through them. He loved the feeling of heat radiating off his skin, the sight of light reflecting off the small pond in his yard, and the sound of his best friend’s laughter as they played together in his garden. But somewhere along the way, his sunlit childhood had faded into shadow. Looking at it now felt like watching a slideshow of disjointed black and white clips from one of those noir films his mother had always loved. He hadn’t realized the exact moment when the amount of time he spent in the dark outweighed the time he spent out in the daylight, the change had been so gradual. He supposed that having Chanyeol by his side at all times masked the shift. That boy had always been as bright as any sun, had always outshone the stars.

Yifan groaned, mentally chastising himself for letting his thoughts stray back to his best friend. He was laying on his back on the rooftop of the complex which served as their base, trying to get the cold night air to distract him from his thoughts. He stared up at the night sky and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, sliding his thumb along the spark wheel and holding up the flickering flame to the sky, as if it could take the place of the sun for him. In all honesty, he didn’t mind not being able to spend his life playing under the sun anymore. He had grown to love the sight of stars, had gotten used to long nights and living in the shadows. He had accepted the fact that he would often only see the sun just as it was setting or as it was peeking in through his bedroom window in the mornings as he was drifting off to sleep. But it was those glimpses of sun that kept him sane, that reminded him that there were still people in the city who spent their nights safe in their beds and who didn’t have to worry that they’d never see morning again.

He hadn’t seen the sun for three days straight.

He supposed, in a way, it was Chanyeol’s fault. It had always been easier for him to push the blame for such things onto his best friend, to convince himself that the strange occurrences in his life could be traced back to that cheeky young boy with his impish grin and his penchant for all things mischievous. His latest ridiculous stunt had left Yifan unable to do much other than sulk in his room and practically smother himself in cigarette smoke in an attempt to ease his nerves. Yes, he supposed he could blame his lack of sun exposure on his best friend’s antics.

Then again, perhaps his friend hadn’t intended to get on the bad side of someone’s revolver. No, if he’d predicted that end he probably would have gone about the assignment very differently. Yifan can’t say he was too surprised by the news. Devastated, of course, but not surprised. Things happened in their line of work. People went out on jobs and sometimes they didn’t make it back. Chanyeol was no exception and Yifan was well aware of that. However, this didn’t change the fact that seeing your best friend lying in a coffin with a face torn up beyond recognition had a way of majorly fucking you up.

You see, daylight was something reserved for him and Chanyeol alone. Their lives had become and endless string of nights working for one of the most notorious gangs in Seoul. Assignment after assignment, robberies and con jobs and, their specialty, murders. But these were stories for the night, these were tales that lived in the backs of alleyways and highway graves. With Chanyeol, Yifan had his happiest memories. With him, he had a few stolen moments of daylight. And now he was gone.

He sighed and pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket. He lit it and watched the smoke spiral up above his head before taking a drag of it, waiting for the shaking of his hands to ease down. His eyes felt heavy and he was contemplating taking a couple of pills to knock himself out for the night when he heard feet clanging against metal behind him. Yifan shot up immediately, straightening his back as he faced the door which led back to the main building. The steel door creaked open and out stepped a boy, younger than Yifan but nearly as tall, with strikingly dark eyes and an even darker mop of hair. He wore plain black slacks and a dark jeans with perfectly polished boots. Silver sparkled at his waist where an ornate sheath hung, adding to his regal appearance. Yifan knew it was more than a decorative accessory. The boy was one of the best knife throwers in their division... almost as good as Yifan himself. He strode onto the roof, hands stuck in his pockets but back perfectly straight. He respectfully inclined his head towards Yifan as he stopped to stand beside him. Yifan relaxed next to him, turning back around to face the city skyline before he spoke.

“Zitao,” he drawled. “You know better than to interrupt me when I’m up here.”

“Sorry, ge,” Zitao replied, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “I needed to check on you. Make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m not a child that needs to be looked after.”

“I know. But even highly trained assassins need to be taken care of sometimes,” Zitao smirked. Yifan scoffed in response and the younger boy nearly laughed at his scandalized expression before turning his attention to the cityscape. He frowned, falling into uncomfortable silence. He pulled his dagger out of his waist, fingers tracing the sharpened edges as he often did when he had a lot on his mind.

Yifan blew out another cloud of smoke, staring at Zitao as he twirled the dagger around in his left hand, dark eyes trained one one of the buildings in the distance. The top floor was emitting a pulsating light, the color of which changed erratically, blinking on and off with the cacophony of thudding bass notes and screeching treble audible throughout the city. He looked as if he’d like to toss the weapon across the night sky, see the polished silver embed itself in someone’s chest. Instead he sighed and placed the dagger back into the intricate sheath hanging at his waist. 

“It doesn’t seem right,” he said. “Seeing the city like this, all lit up. How can there be any light left in it at all?” Yifan could tell by the way the younger boy was gritting his teeth, one hand still clamped around the pommel of his dagger, that Zitao was trying to call out the same anger that he felt in the elder boy. He wanted to get a rise out of him, to move him to action, push him towards revenge. Yifan merely shrugged in response, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing him lose his ever present cool. Zitao had always been a rash boy, one who often thirsted for violent retribution. Yifan had always thought he put too much of his heart into their work.

“How can you just stand there?” Zitao eventually asked, abandoning all subtlety. “He was your best friend, how can you not want to tear the city apart for him? I’d run my knife through every bastard responsible if I could.”

“So do it,” Yifan said coldly, keeping his eyes trained on the twinkling lights of the horizon. “Try not to make a mess out of it, though. I don’t like cleaning up after you.”

“You’re too level-headed for your own good,” Zitao scoffed before whipping his hand out to grab the cigarette from Yifan’s grasp. He was moving it to his lips to take a drag when suddenly Yifan’s hand was around his neck, pinching the muscles tightly until the boy let out a strangled gasp. He reached out slowly and plucked the cigarette from it’s spot in the crook of Zitao’s fingers. He took a long drag, then blew the smoke out into the boy’s face, expression remaining calm but eyes sparkling with malice.

“Not quite as level-headed as you’d think,” he said. “Don’t test my patience.”

Zitao gasped again when Yifan let go, shaking hands reaching up to rub the sore spots on his neck. He glared at the ground, no doubt wishing he could retaliate against the elder boy, but even he wasn’t that reckless. Instead he cleared his throat before turning back to Yifan, his eyes glazed over with cool professionalism.

“He wants to see you,” he croaked. “He sent me up to let you know.”

“I figured that was why you were up here,” Yifan said bitterly. 

“I _did_ want to see you anywa-”

“Did I ask for your reassurances?” Yifan snapped. “Tell him I’ll be down soon.”

“I think he would prefer-”

“He can wait or he can come up here himself. Now go, Tao, let me have some peace and quiet.” The boy nodded and said nothing but Yifan could see he was nervous by the set of his jaw. He sighed as Tao left, door slamming shut behind him before he stomped down the stairs. Yifan knew Tao’s words would anger their leader and he disliked having to put the younger boy in that position. But he needed to assert himself, needed everyone to remember that he was just as much in charge of them all. He would not be commanded about the base, would not learn to heel like a stray dog. Instead he laid back down, waiting for the man to come to him as he surely would. 

He was unsure how long he’d been laying on the roof. The only sounds were those of the city’s nightlife steadily crashing and banging on towards morning and the occasional snippet of conversation floating up from the base below. At some point the sky had started to lighten, the blackness of night giving way to the deep purple of early morning. It was when the sounds of the city below began shifting from the chaotic shouts of drunken youths to the organized chatter of workers getting ready for the new business day that Yifan once again heard footsteps as someone ascended the stairs. He counted the slow, steady steps as he stood and straightened out his black shirt. The door slid open soundlessly just as Yifan turned to face it, his face strained as he tried to keep his expression blank. The man who stepped out wore a crisp black suit, dark brown hair swept neatly out of his face as he took in Yifan where he stood at the edge of the roof. He stepped quietly, moving to stand next to him where Tao had been just hours before. He stared expectantly at Yifan, who stared back with the same cool expression he always reserved for him. 

“Kris,” the man said after a few minutes of silence. Yifan blinked, face turning even colder in response to hearing his alias. “You kept me waiting.” Yifan said nothing and the man merely smiled at his silence. He was a handsome man who appeared younger than he was. His features were soft, gentle, almost angelic in appearance. But his eyes... Yifan repressed a shudder at the thought of them. They were a simple brown, perfectly pretty and round, but there was a certain shine to them that revealed the venom that ran through his veins. No ordinary man could trifle with him, that was sure enough.

Yifan grinned back before speaking. “What do you want?” he said. The man’s brows rose in mock surprise but he made no comment on Yifan’s manner of speaking. He expected this behavior from him, expected him to have more bite than the lower ranking members of their society. Yifan was sure a part of him looked forward to it. Yifan was a challenge to him, one that would prove 

“Sorry for your loss,” he said, small mouth tilted up in half a smile, brow scrunched up just enough to appear concerned. _Sorry_ , he said, as if Yifan had come second at a high school track meet and not as if he’d lost the only spark of light in his ever darkening life.

“It’s your loss too, Lu Han,” he said bitterly. “He was the best infiltrator you had. Three fourths of the intelligence you’ve gathered, you got from him. And the rest had his hand in it too.”

“Yes,” Lu Han sighed. “Yes, that’s true. You made quite the team, didn’t you? He got in, got me the information I needed, and you took care of the rest.” Lu Han patted his cheek. “My finest pair of assassins. It’s a pity. But nevertheless, he can be replaced.”

“He was one of the best men you had. He was good at.... at all this,” Yifan said, gesturing around him wildly. He could feel his composure threatening to crack and he wished fervently for their conversation to end. Lu Han reached into one of the pockets of his silky black suit and pulled out a long silver box. He cracked it open and pulled out a cigarette, grabbing a lighter with his other hand. 

“Not good enough,” he said finally, exhaling smoke. “You’re better. Chanyeol was good, yes, but he had the same ailment as most of our members.”  
“And what’s that?”

“They’re far too empathetic,” Lu Han laughed. “Oh they enjoy their work, of course they do. You can see it in their eyes, the way they light up when they’re on an assignment. But they feel remorse afterwards. You’ve heard the younger ones at night, sobbing into their pillows because they got a little blood on their hands. The guilt eats them up. They get reckless.”

“And I’m different?” Yifan deadpanned.

“Yes!” Lu Han said enthusiastically. “Yes, of course you are. You see, Kris, there are two types of successful people in this business. There are those who revel in the chaos and destruction which they reap and those who block it out. There’s no room here for sympathizers. These kids, they know every trick in the book, but until they learn to cozy up to the idea of death, they will not be able to reach our level of expertise.” He stopped to smile at Yifan, pride sparkling in the depths of his eyes. “They’ll choke, every time.” 

“Which am I, Lu Han,” Yifan asked, half joking.

“Well that’s for you to find out, isn’t it?” Lu Han tilted his head, considering Yifan as he scowled at him. “Though you don’t seem to enjoy it as much as the rest, do you? Then again, you’ve already seen twice as much blood as most of them.” He sighed dramatically. “Poor child, seeing such violence so early in life. But at least it’s helped turn you into the fine assassin you are today.”

“And which are you?” Yifan stated flatly, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth. He hated when people brought up his childhood, hated the way it brought up images of mangled limbs and blood stains half hidden in dark corridors, and his colleague was well aware of that. Lu Han stopped smiling for a moment, letting his cigarette dangle mere millimeters from his mouth. “Which are you, Lu Han, the reveler or the robot?”

“Which am I?” he mused. He was staring at Yifan again, as if the younger man was a particularly entertaining pet whom he enjoyed baiting. “Well... I suppose I was always fond of the color red.” He gave Yifan a twisted grin which he did not return. Lu Han sighed. “I suppose this is a bad time to ask...”

“It’s always going to be a bad time to ask.”

“I guess you’re right. Still, his death was so sudden. I’m sure you need more than a few days to process it. But he was gathering sensitive information. I really hate to ask-”

“No,” Yifan interrupted. “You don’t. Just cut the crap and ask me already.”

“Yifan,” Lu Han sighed softly, eyes darkening as he placed a hand on his shoulder. He tried not to flinch under his touch. “How much do they know?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yixing had never liked the taste of coffee. The foul liquid was much too bitter for someone with a tooth as sweet as his and he had always harbored an intense dislike for any type of hot beverage other than his grandmother’s fresh homemade teas. Yet, here he was on a Monday morning downing his third mug of dark roast, screwing up his face in distaste as the harsh tasting black muck hit the back of his tongue before slipping down his throat. He gulped down the few remaining dregs of coffee as quickly as he could, fingers pinching his nose shut to avoid tasting it as much as possible. He could feel the eyes of his intern on him as he finished off the mug and plopped it down with an audible thump. The boy raised a single brow, his mouth turning down into a frown as Yixing wiped a few stray drops of coffee from his mouth.

“Why are you drinking so much coffee?” the boy asked, confusion coloring his voice. He’d been surprised enough when he walked in that morning, two minutes late as usual, to find his boss thrusting a coffeemaker towards him and plainly asking him to prepare as much of the drink as was possible at once. Now the boy sat in silence as he drank cup after cup, eyes skimming endless reports as he did so. It was uncharacteristic and the boy, while appearing rather lazy and inept on the outside, boasted a knack for detecting and analyzing unusual behavior. Yixing turned to him, taking in his perfectly pressed pants and starched white shirt and how they both contrasted with the poorly executed knot in his crooked gray tie. The boy was frowning as a small piece of his pale hair escaped the gelled monstrosity atop his head to dangle in front of his narrowed eyes. Yixing merely frowned at him, refusing answer him immediately. Instead, he pulled the carafe, still half full of coffee, towards himself so he could pour himself another steaming cup. The boy’s hand shout out towards him, slim fingers grasping his wrist as his brow scrunched up in confusion. Yixing thought he’d never seen someone frown with quite as much force as he did. It was the kind of disapproving look one would think was reserved to especially strict schoolteachers and over worried parents, not to newbies so fresh out of university that they hadn’t had the chance to grow out their godawful bleach blonde hairdos yet. 

“Hyung,” the boy said, his voice low but curious. Yixing was slightly surprised to see concern in the younger’s eyes. “Seriously, what’s up? You hate coffee.”

“Four days,” Yixing sighed in response and the boy merely frowned more, though he couldn’t quite see how it was even possible to bend one’s lips that far downwards.

“What?”

“I haven’t slept for more than twenty minutes at a time for four days,” Yixing deadpanned. He gestured to the piles of paperwork before picking up a newspaper dangling on the corner of his desk and waving it in the boy’s face. “Do you know why?”

“Um,” the boy began awkwardly. “Because.... because of the Park Chanye-”

“Because of the Park _fucking_ Chanyeol case!” Yixing finished, throwing his hands into the air. “Because he had to show up in the middle of a simple, open and shut case, and turn it into the Organized Crime Activity Department’s discovery of the decade. And what happens when we find the discovery of the decade?”

“It goes to you, sir,” replied the boy eagerly. Yixing would have laughed at the look of appreciation on the younger’s face if he wasn’t so incredibly sleep deprived.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes it goes to me.”

“So it’s true then?” the boy asked. “About the leads on the EXO case? Did you really find the base of operations? And are you really in charge of the whole investigation? And will you-”

“Sehun-ah,” Yixing warned. “You know you’re not privy to that information.” 

“I just want to know a little bit! No one briefs me on these things.”

“Because you’re not _supposed_ to be briefed on these things, Sehun, you’re only an intern.”

“But I won’t be an intern forever!” he protested. “I’m going to be working right next to you one day so I might as well get used to it. Come on hyung, just give me a summary. Isn’t the point of this internship to gain experience anyway?”

“Yes, but most interns gain experience with what kind of Starbucks drinks their employers prefer.”

“And as we’ve already established, you hate coffee. There, I’ve gained my coffee-buying experience. Now spill, hyung!”

“Don’t be so pushy,” Yixing mumbled, but he was smiling at the boy anyway. His enthusiasm made days of being confined to the office instead of doing fieldwork just a little bit more bearable. “Oh alright, I’ll give you the basics. But if a word of this gets out, I’ll feed you to Junmyeon security dogs,” he said, referring to the head of their department. Sehun grinned, pulling his chair closer so as to not miss a single word. 

“I assume you know,” Yixing began. “That when we ran into Park Chanyeol on a standard raid earlier this week, we hadn’t expected the situation to be as serious as it was.” Sehun nodded, then gestured for Yixing to go on. “Well Park was a petty thief... at least in our books he was. He did some time now and again, small things, minor felonies. But what we didn’t know was that those crimes were his way of getting on our radar and into our systems. He wasn’t just a minor criminal. In fact, as we’re learning now, he was most likely responsible for years of stolen intelligence and several major assassinations. He was a criminal mastermind, as nearly all the higher members of EXO are.”

“So all those minor altercations,” Sehun interrupted. “All those times getting arrested for minor offenses, that was just his way of getting on the inside, right? So he could have opportunities to gather intelligence and make connections?”

“Yes, exactly,” Yixing said, once again impressed by Sehun’s unexpected intuitiveness. “He most likely used his arrests as an opportunity to spy. He’d been leaking information to EXO for years, of course, and the jail system was only one source.”

“So when you ran into him last week,” Sehun said. “You were expecting something small.”

“Yes.”

“But it wasn’t small at all, was it?”

“No,” Yixing said, but before he could continue he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. Sehun gulped and looked down to his shoes, which in turn prompted Yixing to turn towards the source of his discomfort. Behind him stood a man in a perfectly pressed, rather expensive looking black suit and a disapproving scowl. His black hair was swept neatly away from his forehead, parted on the side in a manner which both oozed professionalism yet accentuated his obvious youth. He squeezed his hand where it rested on Yixing’s shoulder, lips twitching into a polite smile that contrasted with the stern look in his eyes.

“Yixing, can I see you in my office?” said Junmyeon, voice strained. 

“Sure,” Yixing replied unsurely. He stood, moving towards the large office on the other end of the room. He saw Junmyeon shoot Sehun another careful smile before he turned to follow behind Yixing. 

The sound of Junmyeon’s office door clicking shut felt louder to Yixing’s ears than it surely was in real life. Likewise, the way Junmyeon hissed into Yixing’s ear sounded like the roaring pressure of a waterfall crashing against his eardrum. His voice was steady but there was a harshness to it that clearly revealed his anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean, Zhang Yixing,” Junmyeon growled as he moved back to the plush chair behind his desk. He plopped down onto the leather monstrosity, resting his elbow against the mahogany wood and then placing his forehead in his palm. “The case you’re working on is _top secret_. As in _don’t fucking tell Sehun about it_.”

“He’s a smart kid, Junmyeon,” Yixing sighed, picking up the paper weight at the edge of his colleague’s desk and letting it roll a bit in his palm. “And he has a right to know what we’re all getting into.”

“Has a right to- _HAS A RIGHT TO KNOW?_ ” Junmyeon stood again, bracing himself against his desk as he leaned in towards Yixing. “The hell he does! He’s an intern, even if he’s only got a few months left. He’s not equipped or authorized for this information. I don’t care how smart he is, I don’t care that he’s your friend - which by the way isn’t a very healthy relationship for this particular workplace - and while we’re on the subject of unhealthy workplace relationships, I don’t care if his boy-toy Jongin is on this case with you either. He doesn’t hear another word of this, is that understood?”

“Joon-”

“I said, is that understood?” Yixing felt the muscles in his jaw twitch, felt his lips turn down.

“Yes, sir,” he replied bitterly, and Junmyeon seemed to deflate as his tone.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I am. It’s just... this is a big case. This is our first lead in years on this gang. Sehun’s a good kid and he’s incredibly intelligent, but this isn’t his case. It’s yours.” 

“I know,” Yixing sighed. “I know, I shouldn’t have told him. But if Jongin and I are going undercover for this, I thought he should at least know what we’re getting into.”

“He shouldn’t have to be so concerned about you two,” Junmyeon said carefully.

“This assignment, it won’t be easy. There’s every chance that something could go wrong. If one of us doesn’t make it back...”

“You _will_ make it back. Both of you will. I wouldn’t trust either of you with this if I didn’t believe in you both.”

“I know,” Yixing said. “I... I know.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Junmyeon sighed. “I’ll let him know Jongin’s on the case as well. I’ll take care of him. But you can’t worry about that. You can’t afford to worry about him once you start this assignment. Promise me you’ll focus on the job and let me handle things back here.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“Good,” Junmyeon said, voice instantly turning pleasant. Yixing started to stand but Junmyeon waved him back down, hand flapping wildly as he _tsked_ at him. “I didn’t just call you in here to yell at you. You need to be briefed.”

“Right,” Yixing said, settling back into his chair. “Of course. What about Jongin, shouldn’t he be here too?”

“He was already briefed last night,” Junmyeon answered. “He’s preparing for the mission now, that’s why he’s not here. Now, shall we go over what we know?”

“Please,” Yixing said, gesturing with his hand for Junmyeon to continue  
.  
“Right. Well, as you know, our department took out Park Chanyeol last week.” Yixing winced, recalling the crumpled form of the young boy, the knife in his hand slipping out of his grasp as he slumped to the ground. “His death, while not what we originally intended, was unavoidable,” Junmyeon stressed. “And that raid helped us gain valuable information with which we can potentially take down one of the most dangerous and deeply rooted gangs in all of Seoul.” Yixing nodded and Junmyeon took this as his cue to continue. He moved away from his desk, gesturing to the whiteboard behind him on which notes were scrawled in his neat hand. There were bulleted lists and arrows connecting important looking names and footnotes squished into the corners of the board, different sections written in different colored markers. 

“As you know,” Junmyeon continued. “We walked into that building expecting to find some minor gang activity, specifically a small-scale smuggling ring. But instead, we found leads not only on EXO but on the Byun/Kim case.” Junmyeon pointed to the board, calling Yixing’s attention to the name “Kim Jongdae” written in red and circled repeatedly. “Kim Jongdae,” he continued, tapping his nail against the name before looking back at Yixing. “Advisor to the Secretary of Foreign Trade Administration, Byun Baekhyun.” Yixing nodded. This was all information which he’d known of before, thanks to Jongdae’s sudden unexplained disappearance. “Baekhyun is concerned that Jongdae was taken against his will, though he is unsure for what purpose. However, as Jongdae was privy to sensitive information, and because they are close friends, Baekhyun is extremely distressed at Jongdae’s disappearance. Before the Park Chanyeol case, we didn’t have any concrete leads on where Kim Jongdae could be, nor did we have information on what could prompt someone to take him.”

“But now we do.”

“Yes,” Junmyeon nodded. “Now we do. Thanks to information we found on Chanyeol, we can confirm that EXO was involved in the kidnapping of Kim Jongdae. Now we just need to know why they’re involved. What are they trying to accomplish?”

“Baekhyun is a foreign trade commissioner,” Yixing began.

“And EXO is known for smuggling priceless artifacts in and out of Korea and China,” Junmyeon finished. “So clearly the target here is Baekhyun. We just need to know what they need him for. That’s where you and Jongin come in.”

“We go undercover,” Yixing said. “Figure out what they’ve done with Jongdae and what it is they’re looking for.”

“In a nutshell,” Junmyeon huffed.

“Can do, chief,” Yixing replied with a smile. Junmyeon smiled back but his eyes were tense. He gently placed his hand on Yixing’s shoulder.

“Yixing,” he said. “This gang... this won’t be an easy mission.”

“I know,” Yixing said confidently. “But that’s why I’m on the case, right?”

“Yes, it’s just,” Junmyeon sighed. “People are going to get hurt. Innocent people are going to get hurt. And you won’t always be able to save them. You understand that, right?”

“Junmyeon,” Yixing said quietly. He thought of the Chanyeol boy lying on the ground, scarlet blood soaking through his jacket and staining his white shirt. He closed his eyes for a moment before looking back at Junmyeon. “I understand. The job comes first, I know that. We all know that.” 

Junmyeon pursed his lips and patted Yixing’s back. “Good,” he said. “Look, go home, Yixing. Get some sleep... if you can after chugging all that coffee. You’re leaving for their headquarters in the morning and I need you well rested.”

“Yes sir,” Yixing smirked. Junmyeon smiled back fondly.

“Good luck, Yixing,” he said. “Work hard. Come home safe.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yifan adjusted the cuffs of his freshly pressed white shirt as he descended from the living quarters of the base to the main conference room. Lu Han had called an emergency meeting with him and a few other key members of the order, stating only that he had many important manners to discuss. No one bothered to question him further; when Lu Han told you to be somewhere you showed up. The only person who ever defied that rule was Yifan and even he wouldn’t dare to do it more than once in a span of two days.

He traipsed down the stairs, back rigid and his ever-present scowl adding severity to his face. He opened the heavy metal doors at the end of the flight of stairs and stepped into the conference room - which really wasn’t much of a room at all. The space was a cavernous bunker, once an old warehouse next to the complex which served as the main base. It had been attached to the base years ago and was often used to accept shipments of every kind - drugs, contraband, and their speciality, ancient artifacts from across the continent worth enough money to buy the entirety of Seoul. However, years of use had turned the space into a multipurpose room. A series of old catwalks crisscrossed across the upper level of the warehouse, all attaching to an elevated platform in the center of the space on which Lu Han held his little staff meetings. A few of the catwalks closer to the walls held computer stations and security equipment, all of which were currently manned by several members. Yifan ignored them as he climbed up to the center platform. A few of the other members were already there, he realized as he approached. He spotted the familiar form of Tao, his dark hair ruffled at the back as if he hadn’t had the opportunity to brush it, though in reality he had probably mussed it up himself. Minseok was lurking in the corner, sipping on some coffee, other hand clasping a burning cigarette. He nodded to Yifan solemnly before redirecting his attention to his drink. Yifan observed him for a moment, taking in his lithe form in a black button up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, hem tucked into dark gray trousers and a silver buckled belt with a sheath for his knife wrapped around his waist. He was a quiet sort of person but he was as lethal as the rest of them and particularly skilled at torture techniques. It had helped him escalate through their ranks rather quickly.

In another corner of the platform sat a younger boy with floppy black hair, head bent over a laptop and black glasses slipping off his nose. He looked up when Yifan passed him, acknowledging him by blinking his eyes slowly, full lips pressing into a thin line. 

“D.O.,” Yifan said. “Tinkering away on your computer as usual, I see.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he deadpanned. Yifan almost cracked a smile and D.O.’s face seemed to relax slightly. The boy was one of their younger members but his genius level intellect and affinity for computers had made him a valuable asset to EXO. Plus, he could be entertaining when he wasn’t completely absorbed by his electronics. Still, the fact that he was here, where Chanyeol would usually stand, bit away at Yifan’s heart. He sighed and reached down to pat the boy’s head before moving towards Tao.

“Zitao-ya,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Tao didn’t turn to face him, instead mumbling out a simple ‘good evening’ while keeping his eyes trained on the ground. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, ge,” he sighed. Yifan narrowed his eyes before reaching to tilt Tao’s face towards him, feeling his heart drop when he saw the dark bruise blooming across his eye.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Did Lu Han do this to you?”

“It’s fine, ge,” Tao whined.

“The hell it’s not! We have enough people on our case without Lu Han beating up his own men-”

“Don’t start anything,” Tao warned in a whisper.

“Are you giving me orders now?” Yifan snapped. Tao winced in response and Yifan felt his resolve soften in spite of himself. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“This is my fault,” he said, gesturing to the purpling spot on Tao’s face. “I wanted to provoke him, even if it was at your expense.”

“It’s okay. I understand why you did it. He needs to know who’s really meant to be in charge here.”

Yifan scoffed. “He knows perfectly well. I remind him of his true place whenever I can and he attempts to remind me that he doesn’t give a shit.”

“You shouldn’t have to remind him,” Tao responded seriously. “When your parents died, they left you the option to take over after you turned nineteen. It was your choice to share the position with Lu Han when the time came.”

“It was a good move,” Yifan argued, ignoring the mention of his parents. “He keeps us moving forward. We need his aggression to motivate everyone into getting jobs done. And you need me to run base operations... and make sure he doesn’t kill you all when he’s in a bad mood.”

“No, ge,” Tao shook his head. “You could easily do his job. In fact, you’d be better at it. We trust you, we listen to you. When we work for Lu Han, we work out of fear.”

“So what do you want me to do, Tao?”

“I don’t want you to _do_ anything,” he began. “Except maybe realize that you’re holding yourself back and there has to be a reason for it.”

“I don’t want to lead, Tao,” he admitted. “I just want to make sure Lu Han doesn’t take things too far.”

“That’s the thing, ge. You do lead, just not in the way he does. You’re not here just for the sake of violence or power.” He stopped and placed his hand on Yifan’s shoulder. “We need that. You’re good for us, you keep us in check. So we look to you. We follow you.” Yifan rolled his eyes but he knew Tao could tell his words had meant a lot to him. The younger boy gave him a crooked smile before turning towards the center of the platform. “Why are we here, anyway?”

“New recruits,” replied Kris. As he answered, the sound of one of the large bunker doors opening echoed throughout the space, prompting those of them gathered on the platform to get up and take a look at the people filing in. There were eight in all, four men and four women of different ages and builds. Most of them looked anxious, eyes darting to and fro as they took in the site of the bustling chamber. Still, two or three looked perfectly at ease, standing with their backs straight and looking straight ahead. One in particular, a young man with dark hair and a solemn expression, stood like a soldier awaiting commands. Yifan frowned at him, unused to new recruits being quite so calm. 

Lu Han walked onto the platform, black silk suit making him blend almost completely into the shadows. “Well,” he said to the four men standing in front of him. “Take a look, then take your pick.” Then he turned out to the floor where the new recruits stood waiting for him to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began with a smirk. “Welcome to EXO. Each of you that is standing here today has been scouted and personally recommended to join our ranks. Note that your being here today does not guarantee a permanent place in our society. The men standing behind me,” he said, gesturing to the four of them. “Are your caporegimes. They shall be choosing you for their ranks, getting you acquainted with the base, and preparing you for training. They will also be deciding whether or not you are fit to remain in our society. Any questions?” Lu Han stared down at the recruits with a pleasant smile which did not reach his eyes. Yifan winced as one of the recruits stepped forward, a young boy wearing a faded green jacket and ripped jeans, scar running down his neck. Lu Han raised an eyebrow at the boy as he bowed curtly before opening his mouth to speak.

“Sir” he began with a shaky voice, “What happens to those of us who don’t get a permanent place?” He looked nervous as he spoke, feet shifting slightly as he waited for a response. When Lu Han didn’t answer, the boy opened his mouth once again, no doubt wishing to repeat his question. His voice turned to a squeak as a dagger flew past his shoulder, catching the fabric of his jacket and propelling him backwards into the wall. Lu Han examined the nails of the hand which had thrown the offending weapon.

“Lu Han,” Yifan hissed from behind him. The man’s hand twitched in response but he did not turn around to reprimand him.

“First rule,” Lu Han answered calmly, ignoring Yifan. “Show no weakness, especially not in front of me. As for the fate of those who don’t make our ranks permanently... well, the next dagger will go through your heart.” He turned back to the four men waiting behind him and spoke quietly to them. “Well, go on. Pick.” 

D.O. stepped forward first, steps slightly unsure. It was his first time doing this, seeing as it was usually Chanyeol’s job to pick recruits for their division. Yifan swallowed down the tight feeling in his throat as the small boy took the place of his best friend. He observed the recruits waiting down below, eyes stopping on a rather well-built boy around his age, with sleek black hair and a handsome face who looked too regal to be standing in the line up. He pointed first to him, then to the boy with the green jacket whom Lu Han had nearly impaled. “I want them,” he said confidently. It was a bold move, picking one of the recruits whom Lu Han had shunned from the start, and Yifan appreciated D.O. giving the boy a chance to redeem himself. Lu Han, lips nearly turning down into a frown, merely nodded at him before instructing the two recruits to join D.O. Yifan studied the remaining recruits as they left, taking in the nervous looking girl and the rather ferocious looking young boy standing too close to her side, their similar features making their relation clear. He frowned at them before turning his attention to the young man who had caught his attention before. He had dark reddish brown hair and pale skin, as if he didn’t get to spend much time out in the sun. He wore black jeans and a plain dark blue t-shirt that showed off his lean but toned body. His countenance was professional, with his feet spread ever so slightly and his arms tucked behind his back. He was handsome, Yifan noted, with features that were young but an aura that seemed to ooze a certain maturity and tranquility that didn’t often appear in people their age. Something about him drew Yifan in, and before he knew it he was stepping forward to speak.

“That one,” he whispered to Lu Han, pointing towards his target. Lu Han looked somewhat surprised.

“The cardboard cutout?” he asked amusedly. “Very well. Who else?”

“Just him.”

“Ge,” Tao murmured behind him. 

“I don’t need anyone else,” he cut off. Then he raised his voice, capturing the recruit’s attention. “You there!” He looked at Yifan immediately, hair bouncing as his head whipped up. “Come with me.” Yifan stalked off without waiting for his colleagues to finish their selections, moving down one of the catwalks and out the metal door at its end. The door had opened onto an empty hallway, one of the industrial looking ones with plain white walls and flickering fluorescent lights. He stopped just inside the doorway, crossing his arms across his chest, then shifting them behind his back as he waited for his recruit to show up behind him. Yifan silently wished he would have had the sense to track his route and follow quickly behind him. He wasn’t sure who would be more embarrassed if he had to go back out to find him, the recruit for already falling behind or Yifan himself for picking a dunce. 

He was saved having to answer this question by the sound of the door creaking open behind him. His head whipped up as his recruit quietly stepped into the hall, same serious posture coloring his movements as he walked towards his new mentor. Yifan instantly began to study him again now that he was closer. His clothes were spotless, not a hair out of place and not a blemish marring his smooth skin. This was odd enough, given that their new recruits were often people found on the street... ruffians and thugs, kids without a home to go to or adults with enough experience to know home never really existed. Yifan pushed those thoughts away, wanting to focus on the man standing in front of him. The recruit was shorter than him, as most people often were, and his dark brown eyes were roaming Yifan’s face in turn, clearly sizing him up just as he was analyzing him. His features would have been sharp, with a long straight nose and sculpted jaw, but youth kept his cheeks rounded and his lips looking plush. The recruit frowned slightly and Yifan spotted an absent smile sneaking it’s way into his expression. His eyes, while trained to look serious, had a certain softness to them, and he could see the laughter that was usually alive in them. He had a quiet sort or beauty, the kind that reminded you of flower petals drifting on the wind or waves lapping against your skin on a summer day. 

Yifan gulped, eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at the recruit. He inhaled sharply in an attempt to regain his wits, regretting it when he caught the scent of fresh ginger and peaches, no doubt coming off the boy in front of him. He frowned in spite of himself as he spoke. “Um,” he began, then stopped when he realized he had no idea what to say. He shook his head and mentally cursed himself. _Get ahold of yourself, Yifan_ , he thought before holding his head a bit higher. “What’s your name?” He kept his voice steady and harsh as he spoke.

The recruit narrowed his eyes slightly before answering. “Lay,” he said simply. His voice was soft and sweet, like the cotton candy Yifan used to love getting at the fair when he was a child. But there was a practiced air to the answer, and the name seemed to stick to his tongue like taffy, glueing itself to his teeth as he tried to push the alias out. Yifan nodded to him, accepting the lie easily. They were all liars here, after all, and he would have needed a new name anyway. He turned around, long arm gesturing down the empty hallway. Lay stepped forward tentatively, looking at Yifan unsurely before moving towards the door at the opposite end of the hall.

The base was full of these dreary halls, all extending from the bunker to the lower floors of the real headquarters. The lower floors of the base all had the same industrialized look, changing from concrete walls to office-like cracked plaster, until they reached the upper floors where the organization’s true wealth was more apparent. Lay opened the rusted metal door and they walked into an elevator bank. Lay stared at the sea foam green doors in front of him, then down to the cracks between the speckled tiles under his feet. Then he looked back up at Yifan, raising his brows while sticking a thumb towards the button on the wall. 

“Going up?” he asked with a nervous smile. Yifan scowled at him before moving past him to press the button. “I guess that’s a yes,” Lay mumbled, hand making its way to the nape of his neck, cheeks reddening slightly. Yifan said nothing, ignoring the distinctly musical quality of the recruit’s voice. The back of his own neck felt distinctly warm and he found himself turning around to stare at the crack between the elevator doors, determined not to look at the embarrassed man next to him. The elevator chimed, opening up to admit them, and Yifan immediately strode in, Lay following closely behind him. Yifan hit the button for the 20th floor, then leaned against the mint green walls with his arms crossed. Lay crossed his arms as well, lingering in the middle of the elevator, the lighting turning his skin pale blue. The light filtered through his dark lashes, throwing shadows against his cheeks while he stood quietly staring at his faded leather boots as the elevator slowly rose. 

“So,” Lay said suddenly. “What’s _your_ name?” Yifan felt his features twist, his eyes narrowing and brow scrunching up as he tried not to scoff at him. “What, do I not get to know your name? I mean if you have to.... what, mentor me or whatever, shouldn’t we get to know each other?”

“This isn’t a high school orientation. I’m not your guidance counselor. This is a society of highly skilled criminal masterminds.”

“Do these societies typically not have orientations?” Lay laughed. Yifan ran a hand over his face, shoulders hunching slightly. Leave it to him to pick the recruit that showed up looking for a chance to make friends. He refused to deign that with a response, instead focusing his attention on a small spot on the opposite wall, trying to forget the overly friendly recruit with the nice voice standing next to him, trying to forget how much he wished Chanyeol was standing in his place, that he was the one trying to crack jokes. “Hey,” Lay spoke again, but his voice was more serious now. Yifan looked back up at him, moving back slightly at the sight of his extended hand. He looked as if he was ready to place it on Yifan’s shoulder and his eyes were narrowed in concern. “You don’t have to tell me. Not that I won’t find out eventually but just... never mind, okay? Forget I asked.”

Yifan tried not to sputter at him as the elevator jerked to a stop, doors opening to reveal a new hallway, one that was considerably plushier than the first. Lay turned around, eyes widening as he took in the site in front of him. He spluttered, looking back at Yifan then back to the hallway extending in front of him. The walls were a bright, deep red with gold print hand painted over it, a pattern of vines and berries stretching up to the gilded gold and bronze ceiling. There was a patterned silk runner laid over the thick burgundy carpet and ornately carved oak tables placed periodically against the walls, the tops covered with elegant looking vases overflowing with fresh flowers. Lay stood with his mouth hanging open as he took in the grand sight. Yifan held back a laugh at the shocked look on his face, hiding his grin behind his hand. He smoothed his expression before speaking to Lay, amusement turning his voice unusually pleasant.

“Do you like it?” he chuckled.

“Do I... like it?” His lips fluttered open and closed and Yifan worried his jaw might unhinge itself. He moved to one of the tables and extended his hand, letting his fingers stop just centimeters from the surface of a porcelain vase. Dark blue vines swirled across its creamy surface, looking as if they could reach out and capture the tips of Lay’s slim fingers if he got any closer. His eyes glossed over the Chinese characters hidden amongst the design and when he turned to Yifan his eyes were blown out, his mouth hanging open in shock. “Is this real?”

Yifan nodded. “Genuine Ming Dynasty vase,” he confirmed. “Don’t touch it. It’s worth more than both our lives combined.” Lay immediately backed up, bringing his arms close to his sides as he tried to place himself in the center of the hall, hopefully far away from any priceless artifacts. Yifan was again struck with the sudden urge to laugh, but he held it back. “It’s not too unexpected to see in our halls. We _do_ deal in artifacts such as this most of the time.”

“Yes, of course,” Lay nodded quickly. Yifan frowned at him.

“How much do you actually know about EXO?” Yifan questioned.

“Oh, well... you know... just the same as what everyone else knows,” Lay said casually.

“Most people don’t know much at all.”

“Well, then I guess I know more than most people.” Yifan held his gaze for a few more seconds before sighing.

“Well, come on then,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room.” He moved quickly before Lay could protest, striding down the hall and out onto the main atrium of the floor. Lay followed behind, head swiveling to and fro as he took in the grandeur of the space. The atrium was circular, an opening in the middle letting them look down to the floors below, a waist high barrier preventing them from a fall. Intricately carved golden columns stretching from the top of the barrier to the roof were interspersed around the opening. There were doors all around the atrium, heavy brown oak with polished number plates. Four of the doors were painted a rich crimson color, and instead of number plates they had golden sigils, one for each caporegime. Yifan looked away from the door where D.O.’s sigil now shone, taking the place of Chanyeol’s flaming phoenix. His eyes flitted past the dragon sigil on his own door, stopping at a plain oak door with the number “10” engraved on its plate. He walked towards it, grabbing the back of Lay’s shirt to pull him along as the boy was still gaping at the rest of the atrium, head tilted up to the gilded ceiling. He choked slightly as Yifan dragged him towards the room, stumbling for balance. 

“Here you go,” Yifan said, pointing to the door. Lay stared at it silently before turning to Yifan.

“So, uh, do I just... go in?” he asked and Yifan rolled his eyes before opening the door for him. Lay mumbled a quiet thank you before walking in and Yifan merely stared at him in response, mouthing the phrase at the back of his head. He strutted in behind Lay, the door slamming shut behind them. Lay didn’t start at the noise, instead loping over to the bed in the center of the room and daintily picking up a corner of the thick covers. This room was as grand as the atrium had been, though it was small. Yifan observed the rich wallpaper, the fancy covers, and the ostentatious decorations throughout the space. 

“You guys really like this color,” Lay said suddenly, his voice sounding pleasantly conversational. “It’s nice... sort of a blood orange. I like it.”

“What?” Yifan frowned.

“Just an observation,” Lay pouted, indicating the silken sheets on the bed. “You really like crossing color families here. I like how you don’t go for simple shades, the blood orange is really a ni-”

“It’s red,” Yifan deadpanned. “We like red.” 

“Right,” Lay frowned. “Of course.” They stood in silence for a minute, Lay staring at the dark carpet, Yifan frowning to himself as he tried to ignore just how plainly _blood orange_ everything in the room really was now that it had been pointed out. Lay looked up at Yifan from behind his dark fringe inquisitively and he was struck with the sudden urge to smile at the boy, to run his fingers through his dark tresses. He felt his expression soften slightly as he took in the sight of the boy, the gentle curves of his cheeks, the sharper angles of his shoulders. There was grace in his posture and something else, something quiet, calm, and disciplined. He didn’t seem like the usual recruits they got, all of them so rough and sniveling. Their recruits usually started out vicious and thirsting for something or other, whether that be money or violence or simply the comfort of their protection. But Lay... Yifan couldn’t place Lay and he felt as if he was falling into a haze the longer he kept scrutinizing the boy. He cleared his throat suddenly, feet shifting back towards the door.

“Your belongings will be brought up to your room,” Yifan said. “Get settled in. You’ll be brought down to dinner in the evening and tomorrow your initiation will begin.”

“Yes sir,” Lay said, and suddenly there was something else hiding behind the softness of his gaze, something fierce and passionate and Yifan felt himself turning around quickly before Lay could notice the way his breath had caught in his chest. Yifan opened the door and was half out into the atrium when he turned back.

“Yifan,” he said to Lay. The boy looked up, confusion coloring his expression. “My name is Yifan.” Then he stepped out of the room completely, shutting the door behind him forcefully and quickly walking away.


	2. a study in fluorescents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yixing and Jongin need to get used to life as members of Seoul's most notorious gang, EXO. But can Yixing do it without falling head first into the deep end?

Yixing awoke to the sight of gilded lilies sprawling across dark brown plaster, eyes adjusting to the dim light still shining from the few bulbs embedded within the ceiling. He blinked slowly, trying to wrap his head around the unfamiliar setting. This wasn’t his bed, that much was for sure. The sheets bunched in his hands were far too fine and smooth to have belonged to him and the small, dark space looked nothing like the light-filled loft space of his studio apartment. It was not until he slowly sat up, pulling his arms up over his head to work out the nonexistent kinks in his back, that he remembered where he was. His face fell as he threw his head back and sighed, trying to ignore the anxiety building in the pit of his stomach as the memory of his mission came back to him. He patted his stomach, remembering the rich dinner he’d been fed last night before sneaking back to bed to rest. The man who had chosen him as his recruit yesterday, Yifan, had watched him leave the dining hall with a gaze that had burned across Yixing’s skin and burrowed itself in the hollow recesses of his memory. 

Yixing gulped, suddenly feeling acutely aware of just how dry his mouth was. He poured himself some water from a jug that had been left on his bedside table, drinking the whole glass in one go before slipping out of bed and pulling a fresh pair of clothes out of the trunk under his bed. He realized no one had pointed him towards a place to shower, then shrugged before changing into the fresh black slacks and sturdy dark blue button up. He was anxious to get out of his room, to find Jongin and make sure the boy was doing well before he could get ushered off to whatever Yifan had scheduled for him for the day.

Yixing was slipping on his shoe with one hand and reaching to pry his doorknob with the other when suddenly the door swung open of its own accord and Yifan’s lean body came into view. Yixing’s hand, which was still shooting forward, landed on the man’s chest, fingers gripping the pressed silk of his shirt as he struggled for balance. He glanced up apologetically at Yifan, letting the hand which was still on his shoe drop before straightening up.

“Uh,” Yixing began. “Good morning.” Yifan merely scowled at him before running one large hand over his shirt front to smooth out the creases that had been left there. “You know, most people knock before walking into someone’s room like that.”

“First,” Yifan said in a low voice, stepping closer to Yixing. “It’s evening. Not morning. Second, you may as well get used to me not knocking.” He glanced at the gold watch shining on his wrist, lips turning down into a frown. He had rather plump lips, Yixing thought, ones that always made it look like he was pouting despite the action being so far from something a man like Yifan would ever consciously do. He looked back up at Yixing, brow furrowing when he noticed that the younger man had been staring at him with a strangely fascinated expression on his face. He cleared his throat awkwardly before pointing to his watch. “The time is 10 P.M. You should be up by this time every day from now on, without my having to come get you. Have you showered?” Yixing shook his head and Yifan’s face twisted up in response. Yixing nearly laughed at the way his nose scrunched up as his lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, we can’t really do anything about that now, I guess. We’re late.”

“Late for what?” Yixing asked, wanting to kick himself when a laugh slipped into the undertones of his voice. Yifan’s expression seemed to shrink further at the overly cheerful sound.

“Lu Han has requested that I join him to observe an... information session.”

“What, like a seminar?” Yixing asked, confused. 

“Not exactly.” Yifan extended an arm, pointing Yixing out towards the atrium. He stepped out of the room and Yifan followed behind him, turning to the right and leading Yixing back down the hall from where he’d first entered the day before. He stopped in the elevator bank, hitting the button before turning back to Yixing. “We’re going to see Xiumin.”

“Xiumin?”

“That’s what they call him,” Yifan nodded, turning back with half a smile. “He was on the platform yesterday, though I pulled you away before he had his chance to speak.”

“Which one was he?”

“The quiet one.”

“The scary one?”

“Don’t let him know you called him that,” Yifan chuckled. Yixing stared at him, marveling at the sound until Yifan cleared his throat awkwardly. The elevator dinged and he clambered in, holding the doors open so Yixing could follow behind him. Once he’d entered, Yifan hit the button for the basement level. Yixing felt the familiar swooping in his stomach as they began to move downwards and he leaned against the elevator wall to wait. Yifan was making a face at him and Yixing could see from his expression that something was troubling him. Yifan spoke before he could ask what was wrong. “Things are going to get a little graphic,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Xiumin’s job... it’s a little violent.”

“Yifan, you’re a mobster.”

“Yes, I know,” Yifan tutted impatiently. “But there’s a difference between active, offensive violence and chronically inducing pain like Xiumin does. And Lu Han specifically asked for me today. Knowing him, wanting me today when he knows I have to take you with me... I just thought you deserved some warning. It won’t be pretty down there.”

“I can handle it,” Yixing said, trying to appear unconcerned despite the way his pulse was jumping erratically. Yifan’s lips twitched as he stared at him, looking thoroughly unconvinced. In the end he merely shrugged, turning towards the elevator doors just as they opened. He led Yixing out into a a dark hall, made entirely of concrete and steel with no overhead light. The only illumination in the space came from the rows of cubicle-like rooms lining each side of the hall. Each room had a waist-high concrete barrier surrounding it and thick-paned glass windows through which greenish-blue tinged fluorescent lighting leaked out into the shadowy hall. From what Yixing could see, many of the rooms were empty, the overhead bulbs flickering over abandoned metal chairs and tables full of sinister looking machinery. Some of the rooms had blinds pulled shut so that Yixing could just barely make out the shadowy shapes inching away from the harsh lighting through the gaps. Yifan walked past all of these rooms, moving towards the back of the space and then turning into an identical hallway. Yixing realized there must be rows and rows of these rooms down here, each of them illuminated with the same sickly light, each of them sounding eerily silent. Yixing felt the quiet inching in on him, crashing against his ears as he stared around at all the rooms. It felt wrong, as if all the sounds that should have been here had been smothered, internalized, hidden away.

“What is this place?” Yixing asked.

“It’s... it’s a part of the intelligence branch here,” Yifan answered carefully. “D.O. is in charge of intelligence now, but it used to be another man. His name was Chanyeol.” Yixing felt his pulse jump at the mention of Park Chanyeol and he quickly tried to gulp down his panic. “Chanyeol was killed recently. D.O. took over his position.” There was something heavy about Yifan’s tone Yixing couldn’t help but detect a bit of sadness in it. He felt a pang of guilt as he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Yifan merely glanced at him, confused.

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

“Nothing,” Yixing lied. “It’s just... you sounded upset.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault if I was,” Yifan snapped. He stopped walking and shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply once. “Sorry,” he said. “Yes, I’m upset. I’m upset that Chanyeol is dead. But I don’t need you to be concerned about me.” 

“Okay,” Yixing replied. “Okay, fine. Moving on.” He started walking again, leaving Yifan behind him for only a moment before the taller man caught up and passed him. “So we’re going to see D.O. as well?”

“No,” Yifan answered. “This is Xiumin’s department. It crosses over with intelligence, yes, but unless we have some direct work to get done down here, we tend to avoid it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Yifan began. “Xiumin is in charge of gathering intelligence by force. Well, I guess that’s not the only thing he gets to use force for. It’s also useful for coercion and to help Lu Han satiate his never ending thirst for blood. Regardless of that, he takes his job very seriously. We don’t come down here for a couple of reasons, the first being that Xiumin doesn’t like us to get in the way of his work. The second is that he sometimes leaves the doors open so that everyone can hear the screams. ”

Yixing stopped walking again, replaying the words in his head. “He tortures people.”

“Yes.”

“This is a torture facility.”

“Yes, it is. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” Yixing said, trying to keep a straight face. 

“Good,” Yifan said. “Because you don’t really have an option aside from following me right now.”

“No,” Yixing said quickly. “By all means, lead the way.” Yifan, who seemed thoroughly unimpressed by Yixing’s brave face, stopped in front of one of the glass doors. The blinds were shut tight in this cubicle as well, but Yixing could detect a strange flickering of light peeking out through the gaps. Yifan frowned, turning back to Yixing with one hand on the doorknob.

“Looks like he’s using the electrodes today,” he said, carefully keeping his face blank.

“Electrodes?”

“Electrodes,” Yifan nods. “He’s delivering shocks to the prisoner. Nothing too major. Just strong enough to hurt but not enough to kill... for now at least. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Yixing said steadily. Yifan nodded once again and let the door swing open. Immediately, the lights Yixing had seen through the blinds seemed to magnify. They were blue, bright and clear as the morning sky, and periodic, coming from a machine in one corner of the room. One of the men from the platform stood next to it now, turning a dial down while running one small hand through his already perfect light brown hair. He looked up and Yifan and Yixing entered, eyebrows shooting up as he stared at Yifan questioningly. “Lu Han wanted me to bring him here,” Yifan said, and Xiumin nodded understandingly.

“Lu Han is late,” Xiumin said simply. Yifan merely shrugged in response before tilting his head towards a long metallic slab next to the machine Xiumin was tinkering with. 

“How long have you been at it?” Yifan asked and for the first time Yixing noticed the boy strapped to the table, gagged so that he couldn’t speak out in protest. His dark hair hair flopped down into his eyes, which were blown wide in some fantastic combination of fear and pain. His hands, which were strapped down onto the table, were twitching ever so slightly as Xiumin replied.

“Just getting started,” he said with a mischievous smile, and Yixing suddenly realized the machine must have been administering a shock to the man on the table. Xiumin mockingly pulled out a clipboard, flipping the single sheet of paper clipped there with an air of great importance. “Today’s subject - Kim Jongdae.” He placed the clipboard back down and cracked his knuckles while staring at a very unamused looking Yifan. Yixing was trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as his mind went into overdrive. Jongdae was staring at him helplessly as his body continued to shake under the periodic shocks being delivered onto him. His lips were pulled taut, teeth clenched behind the gag, and Yixing found himself averting his gaze, hands shaking nearly as much as Jongdae’s. His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself as he tried to think of a way to work around this situation.

“Kim Jongdae, as in Byun Baekhyun’s advisor?” Yifan asked, his tone suddenly business-like.

“That would be the one,” Xiumin replied. “Lu Han needs some information out of him.”

“And you plan on getting information out of a man who can’t talk?”

“He wanted me to have some fun with him first,” Xiumin shrugged. Yixing tried to keep his rage off his face but he felt some of it leaking into his expression. Yifan seemed to notice as he was suddenly staring at him with a warning in his eyes. Yixing blinked twice, then smoothed his face out to its previously calm state. He blinked once again, slowly, as if to clear out any residual twist to his features. As he did so, he heard a voice from behind him.

“Well hello,” said Lu Han, striding into the room with his usual grace. “I see everyone’s here.” 

“Why do you need me here, Lu Han?” Yifan asked immediately.

“I wanted to discuss the details of the Byun Baekhyun assignment with you.”

“Can’t it wait?” Yifan hissed. Lu Han’s eyes darted to Yixing and he tilted his head before looking back at Yifan.

“No,” he said with a pleasant smile. “Besides, I’m sure your little recruit would love to gain some experience.” Yifan kept his mouth set in a tight line and Yixing could have sworn he saw him move closer, as if trying to get between him and Lu Han. 

“Just tell me what you need to tell me so I can move on with my day,” Yifan spat. Lu Han kept smiling as he walked over to Xiumin, one hand reaching out to press against the shorter man’s arm fleetingly. He snapped his fingers, pointing to the gag on Jongdae’s mouth. Xiumin turned one of the dials on the machine down before bending to remove the gag. Once it was free, Jongdae took a deep, gasping breath, eyes going wide as he struggled against his bindings.

“Hello Jongdae!” Lu Han said brightly. “I have a few questions for you. Would you mind answering them for me?”

“Fuck off,” Jongdae gasped and Lu Han frowned at him disapprovingly. 

“That won’t do,” he said, pulling out his dagger once more, balancing the ornate pommel in his palm as he walked towards the table. He grasped the hilt and trailed the tip down Jongdae’s cheek while speaking. “Let’s try again, shall we? And this time be a little more careful of how you speak to me.” Jongdae stayed silent, eyeing the blade warily. Yixing’s gaze flickered between Lu Han and Jongdae, lingering on the panicked look in the victim’s eyes. He had his hands behind his back in an attempt to hide their shaking as he tried to come up with some way to free Jongdae. Lu Han spoke again suddenly, the corners of his mouth turning up into a savage grin. “You have some information,” he said. “Regarding a shipment of ancient scrolls coming in from China. I would like to know where they are being shipped and when they will be arriving. Will you give me this information willingly?”

“Go to hell,” Jongdae snapped, then winced as Lu Han dug his dagger into the skin at his cheek. Yixing flinched in response and Yifan clenched his teeth, keeping the rest of his face eerily blank.

“Very well,” he replied evenly. “I suppose Xiumin will have to coax it out of you.” Lu Han patted the head of the man in question, looking at him fondly. “Get me the information by sundown.” Xiumin simply nodded before turning to tinker with the machines. He turned the dial again and flipped a few switches. Yifan seemed to stiffen and Yixing suddenly felt a strong grip on his arm dragging him back out of the room just as Jongdae’s body convulsed and his mouth dropped open in a soundless scream. He heard Lu Han’s soft laugh follow them out of the cubicle.

“Is your recruit a little sensitive, Kris?” Lu Han chuckled. Yifan walked fast, still dragging Yixing along as he pulled him back to the elevators. Yixing didn’t speak until the doors of the elevator closed behind them, shutting them in as they ascended back to their rooms.

“What are they going to do to Jongdae?” he asked.

“Shock him,” Yifan replied. “Torture him until he gives them the information they want. Then kill him, probably.” Yixing bit back the curse building on his tongue at the thought of Jongdae being harmed. He heard Junmyeon’s voice echoing in his head, whispering _you won’t always be able to save them_ and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. If Yixing started protesting now, he would blow his cover. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, heart already aching for the condemned man. Instead, Yixing tried to focus on gathering information.

“Why does Lu Han need old scrolls?” he asked, trying to sound casual. 

“He doesn’t,” Yifan replied. “Well not all of them, though they’re pricey enough to be of some value to us. He’s looking for one in particular though.” 

“Which one?” The elevator dinged as they reached their floor and the doors opened to reveal the same posh hallway leading to their rooms. Yifan stepped and Yixing followed, trying to keep up with the taller boy’s longer strides. Yifan evidently didn’t like to walk and talk for he didn’t answer Yixing’s question until they had reached the atrium. He stopped by the center, leaning against the railing while pulling out a small silver case. He offered a cigarette to Yixing, who refused, before sticking one in his own mouth and lighting. He seemed to contemplate Yixing’s question while he smoked. After some time he finally answered.

“There is a map,” he said. “Drawn up a long time ago, when modern day Seoul was just a spark in someone’s mind. Every old street, ancient tunnel, or forgotten passageway can be found on that map. If we can get our hands on it, we’ll have access to every secret passage in the city. An entire underground system to work with and an essentially endless amount of control over traffic in and out of the city. We could do a lot with that power.”

“You’re torturing him to get sewage plans?” Yixing scoffed. Yifan looked at him with an amused expression.

“We’re torturing him to get the key to the city,” he explained, but something in his tone made it sound like his heart wasn’t in it. “We’re smugglers, Lay. Plans like that could make our lives a whole lot easier. It’s much easier to control a city when you can access every part of it while going undetected by police. We could work a job and get out of there without the police knowing where to start looking for us. We could get into any building we wanted without worrying about security... museums, banks, City Hall.... Kim Jongdae is going to give us information about parts of Seoul that no longer exist in living memory, not to mention details on every foreign trade development that occurred before we acquired him.” Yifan blew out some smoke, watching the ashen cloud circle up through the atrium and disappear into the vents. Yixing tried not to scowl down at the lower floors and only half succeeded.

“Wait here,” Yifan sighed before turning away from the railing. Yixing saw him disappear into his room and shuffled his feet awkwardly until he returned, carrying a glass of water in one hand and an open beer in the other. He handed the water to Yixing before taking a swig of the amber liquid himself. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll bite. Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Yixing asked cautiously while taking a sip of the water. 

“I mean you’re clearly not big on violence,” Yifan continued, studying his beer as it sloshed around in its bottle. “You’re not keen on torture. Haven’t really heard you say a word about organized crime yet, which is pretty much all we do. So why are you here?” 

“Well why are _you_ here?” Yixing countered. “You didn’t seem all that excited about Xiumin’s torture session. What kind of assassin isn’t big on violence? How did you end up here?” 

Yifan laughed and the sound echoed through the atrium. “Come on,” Yifan said, pointing to his room. “I’ll show you something.” He placed a hand on Yixing’s elbow and gently guided him towards one of the door in the hall. The gold dragon on Yifan’s door glinted as he pushed it open and gestured for Yixing to go inside. He obliged, stepping over the threshold cautiously.

The inside of Yifan’s room was very much like Yixing’s, with red walls and gold trimmings lining the ornate furniture. His room was much bigger, appearing to be more of a loft-sized space than a small bedroom, and the walls were lined with expensive looking paintings. Yixing walked over to one hanging next to Yifan’s four poster bed. It was a furious mix of crimsons and scarlets, with the sharp pattern of blossoms spreading across the canvas, the blooms full and white.

“ _Almond Blossoms_?” Yixing asked reverently. Yifan hummed appreciatively.

“I see you’re familiar with Van Gogh then,” he said.

“Everyone’s familiar with Van Gogh. It’s _Van Gogh_.” Yifan chuckled at Yixing’s tone before smoothing his face out into a severe expression.  
“Be careful with it,” he said as Yixing’s hand stretched out towards it. “It’s very precious to me.”

“That’s not a real one, is it?” Yixing gaped when Yifan didn’t answer. Then Yifan shot him a gummy grin, huffing in amusement. Yixing inexplicably felt heat rushing up the back of his neck as Yifan shook his head. His hair looked like spun gold shimmering under the dim light.

“No,” he chuckled. “No, it’s not real. I just wanted to see your reaction. Think of it as a lesson to not touch things around here without reason. Almost everything in here is worth your head.”

“But not this?” Yixing asked, turning back to the painting.

“No,” Yifan answered quietly. “Not that. That I painted myself.”

“ _You_ painted this?” Yixing asked. “That is... that is amazing.”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked.”

“I didn’t take you for an artist.”

“Well I have to channel all that left over homicidal aggression into something, don’t I? I can’t go around killing everyone all the time.”

“I’m sure Lu Han would love for you to do that,” Yixing said absentmindedly. Yifan snorted, then straightened up as if trying to cover up the sound. Yixing swallowed down his smile before speaking again. “So you paint flowers?”

“Yes,” Yifan frowned. Yixing looked at him questioningly and, somewhat reluctantly, Yifan spoke again. “I, um, miss the flowers,” he said. “I don’t get to see them in their natural habitat all that much. I miss how they look under sunlight.” He grew quiet after that and Yixing felt more heat rushing up and coloring his skin pink at the admittance. He cleared his throat roughly before speaking.

“What did you want to show me, anyway?”

“Right,” Yifan said, starting from his silence. “I wanted to show you why I’m here.” He moved towards a small side table next to his bed, grabbing one of the many frames placed on it. He handed the frame to Yixing, then leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Yixing studied the picture, the cool metal of the frame digging into his palms. It was an old polaroid, faded with age and smudged at the edges where fingers had grasped it too right for too many years. There was a little boy in the picture, with short black hair and Yifan’s gummy smile, squinting up at a woman with long dark tresses and a warm expression. A man stood behind her, large hands balanced on her shoulders and a stern look on his face that didn’t match the joy in his eyes. There was a second boy, one who looked a little younger, peeking his head out through some ferns on Yifan’s right, dark hair obscuring his eyes as he shot a dimpled grin at the camera. Yixing studied the photograph closely, shivering when he felt Yifan move to stand behind him. His breath ghosted across the top of Yixing’s head as he spoke, sending sparks down his spine. “Those are my parents,” he said quietly, pointing to the smiling woman and the kind eyed man. “They were in charge of EXO before they died.”

“I’m sorry,” Yixing said, unsure of what else he could say. Yifan didn’t seem like the type of person who was easily comforted. He inclined his head once in acknowledgement before taking the frame back from Yixing.

“This life,” he said. “It’s all I know. Some nights I think it’s all I ever _want_ to know. I grew up into this world, Lay. I don’t want to leave it.” Yixing nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around Yifan’s words.

“Who’s the other boy?” he asked. Yifan smiled warmly at the child, one finger tracing the edge of the frame.

“Chanyeol,” he said. “We were best friends from childhood. Since before... before all this.”

“Chanyeol,” Yixing repeated. His voice for once did not sour around the name, did not express annoyance or anger or intrigue. Instead, he felt a strange pang in his chest where Yifan’s grief seemed seep into Yixing. He frowned at the photograph, ignoring his urge to place his hand on Yifan’s arm.

“Yes. And now he’s dead too.” Now Yixing found his hand reaching out against his better judgement, the tips of his fingers trailing over the satiny fabric of Yifan’s suit jacket for a brief moment before he collected himself and brought his hand back. Yifan let go of the breath in his throat when Yixing placed his hand back at his side. He glanced at Yixing, and for a moment he saw a flicker of pain, no doubt over his lost friend, mingled with some other emotion in Yifan’s copper eyes which Yixing couldn’t place. In a moment the wall descended again, locking Yifan’s thoughts away behind solid black marble, but not before Yixing registered the strange combination of confusion and want in his expression. He turned back to the photograph in his hand, purposefully ignoring Yixing’s searching gaze.

“How did they die?” Yixing asked suddenly. “Your parents, I mean.” 

“Same way they always die around here. My father got himself into a bit of a mess and it landed him behind someone’s gun. It was just some stupid, petty rivalry.” 

“Were you young when they died?” Yixing asked quietly. 

“Eight years old. I remember it all.”

“You were there? When it happened?” Yifan nodded, still avoiding Yixing’s eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt jittery. So I snuck up onto the roof of our house to get some fresh air, maybe look at the stars. I used to do that all the time as a kid, sneak out onto the roof and count stars until I fell asleep. Anyway, that night when I was lying up there, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I figured it was my parents coming out for some air too, so I hid before they could find me and tell me off for being awake. I was behind some crates when my father ran out, looking all panicked. My mother ran out after him and she started whispering something to him. I couldn’t hear them but I remember thinking something was wrong. There was a gun in his hand... he never used guns but there it was, and my mother was clinging to him, trying to push him out of the way. But before they could even move there were more people running up the stairs. Three people in total, all masked, all holding guns. One of them pointed and started shooting... I don’t really remember what happened after that. I just saw red. Everything was red.

I stayed up there that night... with their bodies. I don’t think I could have moved if I tried. Someone came and found me in the morning, still behind those damn crates. They pulled me out and cleaned me up, got me looked at to make sure I was okay. And then they sent me on my way, sent me to Chanyeol’s house to stay with him and his family. His parents had been close to mine, you see. I lived there until I was sixteen and then I moved in here and started training to take over. And I’ve been here ever since.” Yixing gulped before inching his hand forward again, letting his fingers rest over Yifan’s hand where it clutched the picture frame. He didn’t move away from Yixing’s touch, instead loosening his grip on the frame before turning to look at him with half a smile. “Are you going to touch every mildly interesting thing you see?” 

“What?”

“It’s like you see an art piece and your hands start moving before your brain can process it. Do you have eyeballs on there? Do you need to use your fingers to see?”

“Did you just call your hands a work of art?” Yixing asked incredulously. “That’s hardly accurate.”

“My hands are exquisite,” Yifan argued. “They may as well have been crafted by Michelangelo himself.” Yixing laughed once, high and loud, and Yifan smiled sheepishly down at him. Yixing ignored the way his heart thudded unevenly at the sight of that smile, focusing instead on the fact that his fingers were still resting on Yifan’s hand. He pulled back with a frown. Yifan’s smile faltered slightly before he made a show of looking at the watch on his wrist. “It’s late. We should get something to eat.” Yixing merely nodded and Yifan seemed to take that as his cue to get up and lead him out of his room. He placed the frame back on the side table before walking towards the door, flipping the lights off as he left.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lay had been quiet as they walked down the hall to the kitchens. He kept his gaze lowered, kept fiddling with his hands as if he feared what they would do if left alone. Yifan kept glancing at them, remembering their slight roughness as they had swept over his skin, ignoring the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of Lay’s eyes boring into his own and the slight nausea as he remembered the urgent want that had built up within him. It was as Yifan was trying to press down these emotions that Lay spoke.

“Yifan,” Lay began quietly. “About Lu Han... something about the way he talked before...”

“Yes?”

“Why did he call you Kris?” Lay asked curiously. Yifan looked confused for a moment before realizing he’d never introduced himself to him with his alias.

“That’s what people call me here,” he answered. “A code name I guess.” A crease appeared between Lay’s brows as looked at Yifan.

“So everyone here calls you Kris?”

“Yes, most people do. Unless it’s Zitao, of course. Or Lu Han when he’s trying to get on my nerves, which is pretty much always.”

“And I call you Yifan.”

“Yes,” Yifan said carefully. “Do you not like my name?”

“No it’s just,” Lay started, waving his hand around impatiently. “You told me your name was Yifan.”

“I am aware of this fact, yes.”

“You gave me your real name.”

“What are you getting a-”

“Well why would you do that?” Lay finally asked, sounding exasperated. Yifan merely gaped at him, unsure of what to say. “Why would you do that when you’ve just met me?”

“Lay,” Yifan cut off. “I don’t know why I gave you my real name. I didn’t think about it, I just did what felt right at the moment.”

“But we’re just...” Lay paused, stumbling over his words. “We’re colleagues, right? That’s all we are?”

“Of course it is,” Yifan scoffed but to his horror he felt his heart stuttering slightly, felt his muscles pulsing as if his arm wanted to bend, as if his fingers wanted to whisper promises against the boy’s skin. _Colleagues, colleagues, colleagues_ , Yifan thought, _but why does he feel like something more_. “Just colleagues,” he said, before moving more quickly down the hall. “Now hurry up. I’m hungry.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yixing had left Yifan after grabbing food in the kitchen, opting to eat out in the hall set aside as a cafeteria instead of in the formal dining room. Yifan had merely shrugged when he left but Yixing could have sworn he saw a little disappointment in Yifan’s face. He shook the thought from his mind, entering the cafeteria while balancing a bowl of rice in one hand and some jjigae in the other. He looked around and, with a sigh of relief, spotted Jongin sitting alone at one of the tables, slurping up noodles at an alarming speed. Yixing sat down next to him and he jumped slightly before recognizing him.

“Hyung,” Jongin whispered around a mouthful of food. He swallowed quickly, wiping a hand across his mouth.

“Good evening, Kai,” Yixing said coolly. Jongin immediately straightened his back, turning his expression neutral.

“Good evening, Lay,” he replied. “How has your day been so far?”

“Very good,” Yixing said. “Learned some interesting things.” 

“Really?” Jongin perked up, his voice strained with excitement. “That’s... good.”

“Yes,” Yixing said. He looked around slowly, observing the room and finding no one near them before leaning in towards Jongin. “I’ll tell you what I know so far. I need you to get the information to Junmyeon.”

“Yes, hyung, of course,” Jongin whispered, nodding enthusiastically. Yixing threw one last glance around the cafeteria before recounting what Yifan had told him about the scrolls and what he had seen of the torture facility in the basement. Jongin’s face seemed to grow paler with every word.

“A map of old passages?” he asked. “There can’t be that many intact after all this time.”

“We have to tell Junmyeon anyway so he can start searching for them. If enough still work, EXO would have instant access to almost any part of the city. It’s too much power.”

“Do you think they’re trying to get somewhere in particular?”

“A map like that... they could get anywhere. They could carry out assignments and escape without a trace. They could get into government buildings without detection. The police wouldn’t know where to start looking for them.” Jongin frowned as he took all this information in.

“And on top of all that,” he said. “They’ve got Kim Jongdae?” Yixing nodded and Jongin cursed under his breath. “We’re fucked. Every bit of insider information on foreign trade affairs from Byun Baekhyun’s run just went into their pockets.” He dug his chopsticks into his noodles angrily as he spoke, brow furrowed as his mind tried to work through the problem. Yixing stared at his rice, studying the way the steam curled off of it in slow, lazy spirals. Jongin seemed to notice his silence for he set his bowl aside with a sigh. “Hyung, you couldn’t have helped him. Not without blowing your cover.”

“I know.”

“We’ll do our best to get him out,” Jongin reassured him. “I’ll get this information to Junmyeon hyung immediately and he’ll know what to do about it.”

“We’ll have to work fast if we’re getting him out of there alive.”

“I know. I’ll brief Junmyeon hyung as soon as I can.” Jongin pulled his noodles back towards himself and resumed eating, keeping his eyes focused on a spot over Yixing’s shoulder. “So hyung,” he said. “How’s your capo treating you?”

“My capo?” Yixing asked.

“Caporegime. The guy who picked you, I mean. He looked a little...” Jongin held himself stock still and stiff, imitating Yifan’s aloof, robotic aura. Yixing was sieged by the desire to laugh but he kept a straight face as he shrugged.

“He’s fine,” Yixing said. He recalled the brief moments throughout the day when Yifan’s stiff mannerisms had given way to something warmer, the moments when his pressed lips had bloomed into a bright smile. He remembered the softness of Yifan’s hand under his fingers and abruptly turned his face to his slowly cooling stew, moving some of the meat around with his chopsticks as he tried to suppress the heat rushing to his face. “He’s kind of... nice. You know, for an assassin. And when he’s not acting like he’s got metal for skin and wires for veins.”

“So you like him?” Jongin asked, keeping his voice unusually steady.

“What do you mean?” Yixing noticed the slight indignation in his voice and how it was currently warring with the strange swooping in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not here to like him, I’m here to work.” _I’m not here to think about his laugh or his toothy grin or how soft his stupidly big hands are_ , he thought to himself. Jongin had half a smirk on his face as he took in his hyung’s strained expression. Yixing stuffed some stew into his mouth to give himself something to do other than get flustered over Jongin’s questions.

“I was just wondering,” Jongin began conversationally. “Why he’s been standing in the doorway staring at you for the past five minutes.” Yixing choked on a piece of meat as he whipped his head around to the door. Sure enough, Yifan was leaning against the frame, quickly turning his head to glare imperiously as some of the other young recruits on the other end of the hall. Yixing’s eyes grew wide as Yifan looked back at him, lips twitching into half a smile. 

“Jongin, I, um, I have to-”

“Go?” Jongin finished, still focused on his bowl. “Sure, hyung, go ahead. And don’t worry, I’ll send the information to Junmyeon hyung.” He pulled Yixing’s bowls towards himself and starting spooning some of the stew into his mouth. Yixing got up slowly, glancing back at Yifan as he did so. “Hyung,” Jongin said as Yixing stood. “Be careful.”

Yixing strode over to Yifan, stopping a few feet away and waiting for him to say something. “Done eating?” Yifan asked.

“Well -”

“Good. Let’s go.” He turned out of the cafeteria, walking speedily down the hallway. Yixing sighed before following after him, his shorter legs working double time to keep up with Yifan’s much faster gait. 

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Combat room. I want to see your skills.” Yifan led Yixing into a room at the end of the hall, a lazy smile lighting up his face as he ushered him in through the doorway. Yixing found himself in the middle of a large gym-like space, with polished wooden floor boards and equipment lining the walls. “Well, get started.”

“What, do you just want me to start exercising?” Yixing asked.

“I told you, I want you to show me what you can do. What are you skills?”

“Acrobatics? Interpretive dance? I can stick like 10 whole marshmallows in my mouth at once. Take your pick.” Yifan rolled his eyes before pointing Yixing towards some mats in the center of the gym.

“So show me your combat skills.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why can’t I? All new recruits need to be trained in combat. You’re going to have to fight with this job. I want to know if you’re actually competent enough to be here.” Yifan shrugged off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, stretching his arms up behind his back as he walked towards the mat. 

“You want me to fight you?”

“Come on then,” Yifan said lazily, beckoning Yixing closer. He stepped onto the mat, eyeing Yifan from a distance as he prepared for an attack. Yifan launched himself towards Yixing, and he just barely deflected a punch before Yifan kicked his leg out from under him. Suddenly they were a tangle of limbs as Yixing struggled to get the larger man off of him. He flipped Yifan over, pinning him down onto the mat so that their faces were mere centimeters from each other. “Good,” Yifan panted as Yixing climbed off of him. “Good combat skills. We can start here for today.”

“What do you mean start here?” 

Yifan grinned savagely, rolling his shoulders as he got back into position. “One skill per day, Lay. Today we’ll practice hand to hand combat, tomorrow something else. Now come on. Attack me.” 

Yixing obeyed, throwing the first punch this round and finding himself face down on the mat with his arm pinned behind his back by the end of it. Yifan pointed out his mistakes before picking him up and commanding him to start again. Their sparring went on for a couple of hours before Yifan finally called it a day. He let Yixing go back to his room, telling him when to be ready for dinner before leaving to finish some work of his own. Yixing went back to his room, and despite the ache building in his muscles he couldn’t help but enjoy the lingering rush that came from sparring with Yifan.

Yixing found himself in the gym at the same time every day with a new challenge to complete each time. The second day, Yifan wanted to try stealth training, which evidently involved pushing him through an obstacle course which Yifan had built himself. Yifan had coaxed him onto high beams, made him hoist himself over climbing walls, and even trapped him on a high platform in the gym and forced him to find his own way down. Yixing’s years of police academy training had helped him keep up with Yifan’s tasks, and he found himself catching Yifan staring at him appreciatively as he ran through each obstacle. This routine of tasks continued for most of the week, extending to include activities such as shooting practice or simple weight lifting and cardio. One memorable day found Yixing pinned under a tremendously bored looking Zitao, whom Yifan had brought in citing his extensive martial arts experience. Yixing went back to his room feeling incredibly sore, the memory of Yifan’s fingertips running over his bruised skin sympathetically replaying in his mind. 

When Yixing wasn’t getting pushed through increasingly difficult physical trials or else trying to find time to share information with Jongin, he found himself being dragged around the headquarters by Yifan to be taught about the inner workings of the base. Indeed, Yixing learned a lot about EXO while undercover. He learned how their shipments were planned and executed, learned what each caporegime was responsible for and who answered to them. He noticed the way Lu Han’s eyes were always alight but never focused unless he was staring down Yifan, and how even then there was a hunger in them that sent shivers down Yixing’s spine. He observed the ways in which each member of the society interacted, noticed that for the most part they acted as a family and looked to Yifan when they were confused or unsure, not Lu Han. He learned to keep an eye on Xiumin, who appeared to be the only one out of all the highly ranked members who stayed close to Lu Han for more than a few minutes. 

Yixing also learned a lot about Yifan and his place in EXO. He learned how Yifan exercised his command calmly, leisurely, not needing to raise his voice very often unless he was talking to Zitao. He noticed the way his shrewd eyes were always alert, observing the workers carefully, keeping track of his fellow caporegime’s activities, keeping the base running efficiently though Yixing had yet to figure out how exactly he managed it. He noticed other things too, things that pulled him away from the task at hand and closer to the breezy thoughts of sunlit afternoons with Yifan’s hair looking golden in the sunlight instead of ashy gray in the light cast by the fluorescents in the warehouse. 

He noticed the way Yifan got lost in his head sometimes, the way his blonde locks shook when he pulled himself back to reality, lips pursing as he stared down at the other members working away. He noticed the way Yifan’s large hands gripped the railing, veins popping out against pale skin despite the relaxed but regal posture of his back. He noticed the way Yifan’s smiles came slowly, like honey running across his skin, first one corner then the other until the skin around his eyes scrunched up and how the dark brown of his irises looked like coppery gold when the light hit them just right.

Two months into their stay, while Yixing was sharing all the facts he’d gathered that day with Jongin, he noticed the hollow feeling in his heart as he spoke and understood that it stemmed from guilt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yixing was also aware that his guilt grew from the seed Yifan had planted in his chest when they had first met, the one which had sprouted vines which were slowly encircling his heart, cutting into the muscle in ways he hadn’t been prepared for. He paused midway through speaking, considering this revelation and prompting Jongin to call for his attention.

“Hyung?” the younger boy asked. “Earth to Yixing. Hyung, you were in the middle of a sentence.”

“I’m sorry,” Yixing said, shaking his head as he looked back into Jongin’s concerned eyes. “Where was I?”

“You were talking about Kim Jongdae,” Jongin said, frowning. “You said he looked weaker.”

“Yes,” Yixing said, recalling the gaunt face and empty expression of the man. Lu Han had asked Yifan to come back down to the basement that day and Yixing had tagged along in an attempt to gauge the extent of Jongdae’s torture. Junmyeon was working on getting a team together to pull Jongdae out without blowing his and Jongin’s cover and until then, it was Yixing’s job to monitor the man. When he joined Yifan on his trip to Xiumin’s offices, he had been greeted by a haggard, listless version of the Jongdae he’d seen just weeks before. His gaze seemed to drift aimlessly over Yixing’s face, refusing to focus on anything in particular as Lu Han and Xiumin questioned him. Inquiries rolled off their slick tongues so quickly, Yixing thought it would have been impossible for anyone to answer them all, let alone someone as wrecked as Jongdae. There were questions about planned shipments, trade treaties, and a few rather loaded inquiries about him and Baekhyun. Each question was met with silence and Yixing had to bite down on his tongue to keep from speaking out every time Xiumin moved closer to Jongdae. He and Lu Han had abandoned the shock method, relying instead on the sharp edges of their knives, poking and slicing into Jongdae’s skin whenever he refused to answer their questions. He didn’t scream when the steel dug into him. Yixing thought perhaps he didn’t have it in him to scream anymore.

He blinked slowly, calling himself back from the memory of Jongdae’s pale face and focusing instead on Jongin’s waiting expression. “It’s not looking good, Jongin,” he said. “If we don’t get him out of there soon, he won’t make it.”

“Then we have to get him out,” Jongin stated simply. “Tonight.”

“Jongin-”

“No, hyung,” he interrupted. “We’re sitting around doing nothing while he gets tortured to death.

“We can’t help everyone,” Yixing said bitterly. Jongin shook his head.

“We have to help someone. It’s like we aren’t getting anything done.”

“We’re getting plenty done,” Yixing argued. “These sessions with Jongdae, they’re not just about watching him. They’re about watching Lu Han as well. When he asks questions, we find out each and every little project he’s working on.”

“I know that!” Jongin hissed. “But how much more do you think they’ll get out of Jongdae before they kill him? You said he looks like he couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. We have to act.”

“We can’t act rashly, Jongin, we have a cover to keep. We can’t afford to be careless.” 

“Saving Jongdae’s life can’t be any more careless than you getting too close to Kris.”

“What do you mean?” Yixing spluttered. 

“Don’t, hyung, just don’t. I’ve seen how you look at him.”

“Jongin, Yifan and I aren’t-”

“Oh Yifan and you.” Yixing winced at the accusation in Jongin’s voice.

“We’ll get Jongdae out,” he said. “I’ll plan it out and we’ll do it as soon as we can. But you _cannot_ do this without me. Is that understood?” Jongin stared down at his plate with a frown. “Jongin.”

“Yes hyung,” Jongin sighed. 

“Good.” Yixing pushed away his empty bowl and stood up from the table.

“Hyung,” Jongin whispered as he turned to leave the cafeteria. “Remember what I said. About being careful.” 

Yixing didn’t answer as he left.


	3. of blades and betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at the same time it comes together, it all falls apart

In the center of the gym was a single target. It stared Yixing in the face menacingly, the bright yellow of the bullseye seeming to challenge him. Yifan walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm, pulling it towards him and turning it so Yixing’s palm faced upwards. Yixing felt cool metal pressing against his hand. He stared at the object Yifan had dropped in his hand, then glanced at Yifan with a wary expression.

“A dagger?” Yixing turned the weapon in his hand, running a thumb over the jeweled hilt and frowning at the flashy gold sheath. “Why a dagger?”

“Everyone in EXO has a personal dagger,” Yifan replied, pulling a knife out of a sheath at his waist. He held up his own dagger, gazing at it proudly. It was plainer than the dagger in Yixing’s hand, sleek and elegant. The hilt was a smooth polished obsidian, the bumps in it revealing Yifan’s grip. The blade itself was jet black steel, sharply pointed like a spear. It glinted under the fluorescent lighting as he turned it reverently in his palm. “Everyone here knows how to wield a dagger. You’ve seen Xiumin and Lu Han using them on Jongdae. You saw some of Lu Han’s skill when you first got here... that doesn’t even begin to capture the accuracy of our best throwers. Knife throwing is an age old tradition in EXO. So I thought... I thought I’d teach you. If you don’t know how already.”

“You got this for me?” Yixing asked, trying not to sound too happy as he studied the intricately detailed hilt. He turned the knife, noticing something engraved at the bottom and his heart seemed to plummet at the same time Yifan replied.

“Actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s... It’s Chanyeol’s dagger. I thought you could practice on it.”

“Right,” Yixing said. He turned to the target and pulled the dagger out of its sheath. The blade was a thin and flat, ideally weighted for long distance throwing. Yixing ran a shaking finger along the steel before raising the knife so it was level with his shoulder. He glanced at Yifan who merely looked back encouragingly. He adjusted his elbow, bringing the knife back behind his head and inhaling. He whipped the blade forward as he exhaled, watched it spin end over end as it flew towards the target. It hit the edge of the board before ricocheting off and landing several feet away. Yixing’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open as he gaped at his failure. Yifan was snickering, a hand covering his mouth as he looked at the scandalized expression on Yixing’s face. Yixing scowled at him before running to pick up the knife from where it had fallen on the floor. When he ran back, Yifan held a palm out, gesturing to the blade. Yixing handed it to him, then started when Yifan wrapped and arm around his shoulders, steering him back into position.

“Here, I’ll help you,” he said, amusement still present in his voice. He stood behind Yixing and placed his hands on his waist, shifting him into position. Yixing held his breath as Yifan’s hands roamed up higher, adjusting his shoulders and turning him slightly off to the side. Then Yifan pressed in closer behind him so that he could lay his arms on top of Yixing’s. One hand wrapped itself on top of Yixing’s, fixing his grip and moving his arm back at an angle. He leaned his head forward so that his lips were at Yixing’s ear as he spoke. “This is a hammer grip,” he whispered while moving Yixing’s fingers so that they fisted the hilt. Yixing could feel his heart hammering in his chest as Yifan’s hot breath passed over his skin, his deep voice reverberating in his ear. “When you throw, make sure you keep your wrist bent back towards your forearm.” He reached across Yixing’s chest with his other hand, using it to bend Yixing’s wrist into the appropriate position. “Are you ready, Lay?”

“Yixing,” he whispered in response, then felt himself pale as Yifan looked at him curiously. He cursed himself mentally, Jongin’s warning ringing in his ears, but it didn’t stop him from continuing. “My name is Yixing.”

“Yixing,” Yifan repeated, dragging the name out and letting it hang in the air between them. He smiled softly, and Yixing was suddenly acutely aware of just how close he was. Yifan turned his gaze back to the target and pulled Yixing’s arm back before launching it forward. The dagger left Yixing’s grip and sailed through the air until it embedded itself in the target, just a few centimeters away from the bullseye. “Just do it like that, Yixing.” 

“Right,” Yixing said, his voice coming out as a squeak. Yifan laughed again, burying his head in Yixing’s hair, one hand still at his waist and the other still wrapped around his fist. Yixing thought his face must be a thousand shades of pink by now, yet he found himself chuckling as well, leaning back into Yifan’s chest as his heart jumped erratically. Yifan’s laugh got muffled in Yixing’s hair and after a few seconds stopped altogether. He stood there, letting puffs of hot air ruffle the tufts of Yixing’s dark hair for only a moment before stepping back and letting his arms fall to his side. His cheeks had a pinkish glow to them as well though Yixing couldn’t tell if that was from the laughter or from something else. 

“I, um,” he said. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Yixing asked. Yifan wasn’t pressed against him anymore but he was still close enough for Yixing to feel his body heat radiating off of him, close enough for Yixing to study each individual fleck of gold hidden in his dark eyes.

“For...” Yifan gestured weakly towards Yixing’s arms before shyly looking down at his shoes. Yixing found himself stepping forward, hands moving of their own accord as he wrapped his fingers around Yifan’s arms. He inhaled sharply, the muscles in his arms tensing as Yixing moved still closer to him. Yixing couldn’t help but study the sharp planes of Yifan’s face, the angular jaw and long straight nose, the curved lips and raised cheekbones. He found himself inching up onto his toes, pulse beating relentlessly against his ear drums as Yifan moved his face closer to his own. 

And then his lips were on Yifan’s and his hands were moving up to cup Yifan’s neck as the taller man wrapped his hands around Yixing’s waist again, holding him steady. He hooked his fingers into Yifan’s hair, and Yifan gasped as Yixing’s restless hands absentmindedly twisted knots into the silky strands. Yixing smiled as he kissed him, tongue swiping across full lips and pressing into Yifan’s mouth. Yixing pressed back the alarms going off in his head, ignored the accusatory glare of his conscious, choosing instead to focus on Yifan’s lips and how they melded with his own. Yifan’s kisses were hungry, all-consuming things. They were not slow nor were they steady. Yixing found himself getting lost in the mess of plush lips, sharp teeth, and insistent tongue. Yifan tasted bitter, like burnt coffee and ash and citrus. He had moved Yixing backwards, pressed him against a wall as his lips trailed down to his neck. Yixing shivered at the contact, squirming as Yifan nipped at the sensitive skin. 

Yifan pulled away first, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against Yixing’s head.

“Sorry,” Yixing said into the space between them. _Sorry_ , he thought to Jongin, to Junmyeon, to Jongdae. Yifan merely grunted, lips coming down to trace patterns across Yixing’s cheeks and trail light kisses down from his ear to his jaw. _Sorry_ , he thought to Yifan.

“Don’t be,” Yifan whispered against his skin.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  


The next day gifted Yixing with a tired head and bruised lips, red marks trailing down his dewy skin as he tried to blink sleep out of his eyes. He found himself tracing the pattern of lilies on his ceiling again, as he often did first thing in the morning. It had become a routine of his, following the curve of the vines and flowers to the spot in the middle where they all converged to form one single bud. The only difference was that this morning, Yixing was not alone.

Yifan’s breath was heavy and he had his face pressed into Yixing’s pillow and one lanky arm wrapped around his waist as he slept. Yixing noted that Yifan’s face was rather peaceful when he was asleep, brow devoid of creases and lips parted in an endearing pout instead of zipped together in a disapproving line. He stroked Yifan’s hair, pushing his bangs out of his face before letting his thumb brush through his long, dark lashes. Then he slowly got out of bed, pulling a shirt over his head and slipping on some shoes as he adjusted the waistband of his sweatpants. He tiptoed over to the door and opened it slowly, trying to be careful of the creaking noise it made when it opened. He backed out of the room and shut the door behind him as quietly as possible.

“Hyung,” said a quiet voice behind him. Yixing jumped, whirling around and nearly knocking over Jongin, who was staring over his shoulder at his now shut bedroom door. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I was just going to the bathroom,” Yixing stammered. Jongin’s eyes were trained on his chest and Yixing blushed, realizing the low cut of his shirt put the marks Yifan left across his collarbones on full display. “Jongin, I-”

“This isn’t being very careful, hyung.”

“I’m sorry,” Yixing said pathetically. He turned away from him, leaning his head against the wall and trying to keep the sinking feeling in his chest from pulling him down to the ground. “Fuck, Jongin, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Jongin said. He wrapped his arms around Yixing’s waist and rested his head on shoulder. “I know, hyung.”

“This is so fucked,” Yixing cried and Jongin pulled back to rub soothing circles into his back.

“Hyung,” he said and Yixing snapped his head up to look at him. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, tears pricking his eyes. “I don’t know, Jongin.” But as he spoke, he couldn’t help but see the look in Jongin’s eyes that was somewhere between sorrow and pity, couldn’t help but feel the weight in his chest and yes, yes he did know. He’d taken to the high beam to fast and now he was falling without a safety net to catch him and Jongin was watching him from crowd with that same solicitous expression on his face, watching as he hit the ground with an almighty crash.

“I don’t know what to do, Jongin,” he said.

“Yes you do,” Jongin replied solemnly. “You always know what to do. You’re just too close right now, hyung. You need to back away so you can see things clearly.” Yixing sighed, passing a hand over his face.

“When did you get so wise?” he huffed. Jongin smiled, patting him on the back reassuringly. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I’m here about Jongdae. We’re getting him out, hyung. Tonight.”

“Jongin, we talked about this -”

“Hyung, wait. Lu Han isn’t here. Lu Han and Xiumin both aren’t here, we have to act _now_.”

“What?” Yixing said, his mouth falling open in shock. “What do you mean they aren’t here, where have they gone?” Jongin shook his head impatiently.

“They’re meeting with a partner group from China, trying to establish some new shipments or maybe work out some scouting teams for when they get the plans for the underground. They won’t be back for an hour and a half, if there’s ever a time to get Jongdae out, it’s right now.”

“Jongin we have to plan, we have to -”

“We have to _move_ , hyung. I already called Junmyeon hyung, there’s transport on its way to pick Jongdae up right now.” Yixing took in his desperate expression and, recalling Jongdae’s weak state the day before, nodded once in agreement. He crept back into his room and grabbed a change of clothes, then snuck back out without waking Yifan. Jongin tapped his foot impatiently as Yixing changed, then grabbed his arm and charged down the hall as soon as he was done. Yixing led him down to the basement, holding out an arm to keep him back while he scouted the floor. 

“No guards,” he said. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“They don’t need guards,” Jongin replied, tugging at a chain around his neck and producing a small microchip from under his shirt. “All the rooms are locked. You need one of these to get in. I nabbed the key yesterday after talking to you.” 

Yixing made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat before leading Jongin down the hall to Jongdae’s room. Jongin pulled out the chip and inserted it into a slot hidden under the door handle. The door swung open with a click and Jongin barged inside. Yixing followed quickly after him, eyes adjusting to the dim greenish light which had turned on in the room. Jongdae was staring up at them, confusion filling his tired eyes.

“What...” he croaked as Jongin pulled out a knife to cut his bindings off.

“We’re getting you out,” Yixing said simply as Jongin sawed through the material wrapped around the man’s wrists. 

“This isn’t coming off, hyung,” Jongin said just as Yixing heard the sound of an elevator descending. Yixing cursed, realizing that Lu Han and Xiumin must be coming back. Jongin seemed to realize this too as he let a string of curses out while picking up his pace. “They’re early,” he said. Yixing moved Jongin aside with one hand, then pulled out Chanyeol’s dagger from the pocket of his pants and started hacking at the bindings.

“Go keep watch, Jongin, or try to hold them off,” he said while sawing away at the material. Jongin left the cubicle without another word, leaving Yixing alone with Jongdae.

“Just go,” Jongdae whispered hoarsely. “Go, it’s okay. Don’t risk your life for me. I’m better of dead now anyway.”

“We’re getting you out, Jongdae,” Yixing said. He shook his head, shivering at the small effort.

“I know you,” he said. “You’re on the force, I’ve seen you around.” Yixing hesitated for a moment before continuing to work on the bindings. One wrist came loose and Yixing immediately descended upon the other. “If they catch you here, they’ll kill you.”

“They won’t catch us.”

“If you don’t leave now, they will,” Jongdae said. “Look at me. I’m half dead already, you’d have to drag me out of here. There’s not enough time.”

“I can’t just leave you here!” Yixing protested. “I can’t, I won’t.”

“You will.”

“We have to help you,” Yixing continued. The binding on his second wrist was only half free and Yixing increased his pace, trying to get it off before Jongin came back to tell him it was too late. Jongdae lifted his free hand shakily before setting it down on Yixing’s wrist. Yixing looked into his eyes, saw the desperation in them as he spoke.

“You can’t save everyone,” Jongdae said. Yixing gaped at him, hand pausing once more over his bindings. Suddenly he heard Jongin’s voice behind him, felt his hand on his shoulder dragging him out of the room. He kept a firm grip on the knife in his hand and let himself be pulled out. Jongdae smiled weakly at him as he left, chapped lips mouthing a quiet _thank you_ to Yixing. 

“Hyung, _go_ ,” Jongin nearly yelled, pushing him out towards the stairs just as Lu Han and Xiumin’s voices echoed through the basement hallway where they had just been. Their voices got louder, and Lu Han’s shriller, no doubt a result of finding their subject half freed from his prison. Yixing was getting pulled through the doorway leading to the stairs when Jongdae’s screams began. 

Jongin half dragged Yixing up two flights of stairs until they reached the ground level, then pulled him out through a back door until they were out on the street, the cold air of the early winter night hitting Yixing’s face with a shock. It was only around 4:00 P.M. but the sun was already slowly descending beyond the horizon. The street was tinged orange but the sky was starting to turn a dark blue, evidence of the approaching dusk still clinging to the last remnants of day as Jongin leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping as he struggled for air, not looking at his hyung. Yixing paced furiously back and forth, ringing his hands in exasperation.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK.” He kicked a stray can on the street, watched it fly about twenty feet away before crashing against the curb. Then Yixing put his head in his hands, trying to keep the burning in his eyes from turning into tears as he struggled to breathe. The setting sun meant that the earlier risers of the base would be waking up soon, not to mention that Lu Han and Xiumin were probably already looking for whoever had been down there with Jongdae. Yixing didn’t want either of them to be missing when the search started up in full swing. He breathed in deeply once more before composing himself, grabbing onto Jongin’s arm. “We have to go back inside. Go to your room, call Junmyeon and tell him what happened. Then go back to bed. Don’t let anyone see you, okay? We were both in our rooms all night, we were both asleep.” Jongin nodded, opening his mouth to say something else.

“It wasn’t your fault, hyung,” he said. “Remember that, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have tried sooner,” Yixing said, then held up his hand when Jongin seemed ready to protest. “Go, Jongin, we’ll talk about this later.” The younger shut his mouth, then nodded once, reaching his hand out to squeeze Yixing’s forearm one last time before he disappeared back into the building. 

Yixing felt himself collapse against the wall once Jongin left, felt his chest heaving in and out as he allowed a few sobs to pass through his body. He counted down from ten slowly, letting each second correspond to one gasping breath as he struggled to regain himself. Ten seconds was all he allowed, ten second before he was back on his feet. He ran back inside, creeping up the stairs while keeping his ears trained incase anyone was coming his way. He climbed halfway back up to his room before getting onto an elevator and going back up to his floor. Yixing found his night clothes where he’d stashed them behind a potted plant in the hallway and changed back into them quickly before slipping into his room. Yifan was still asleep, head facing away from the door. Yixing slipped back into bed, careful not to wake him, then rolled onto his back, letting his muscles melt into the comfort of soft down. He pushed away his thoughts, swallowed down his anxiety, and after a while he fell back to sleep, stirring only once when Yifan awoke but twenty minutes later and ran his hand through Yixing’s hair. He had felt Yifan’s lips press against his forehead and mumbled sleepily as he left before falling back into dreams filled with the sound of tortured screams.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yixing felt two large hands on his shoulders, felt someone’s hot breath frantically fanning across his face. He groaned in his sleep, trying to turn away from the intruder, but the man was persistent.

“Wake up,” he finally whispered and somewhere in the back of his sleep laden mind, Yixing recognized Yifan’s voice. “Wake up, _now_.” His eyes shot open and he saw Yifan’s face mere centimeters from his own, pupils blown wide in panic as he frowned down at him. “Xiumin he-he...”

“What is it, Yifan?” Yixing asked as he shot out of bed, hand gripping Yifan’s forearm as he slipped his feet into some slippers.

“Something happened while we were asleep, someone tried to help Kim Jongdae escape. That recruit you’re always with, Kai, he was caught. He was taken to Lu Han-”

“He _what_?” Yixing said. He felt his heart rate kick up as his mind connected Yifan’s panic-stricken expression to the words coming out of his mouth. “Where?”

“The warehouse - wait!” But Yixing was already halfway out the door, feet beating relentlessly against the carpet as he ran towards the elevator bank.

He rounded the corner, feet slipping over the concrete of the floor, but he refused to slow down or fall. He had to get to Jongin, had to save the boy before it was too late. He heard Yifan beside him at first, then saw the wide expanse of his shoulders bobbing up and down under the fluorescent light as he led the way to the warehouse. Yixing felt the weight of his body dragging him down, felt how every step he took was too slow despite the way he pumped his legs to push himself forward. Yifan reached the end of the hall before him, and he threw the door open, stepping aside so Yixing could run into the warehouse. He ran down the catwalk towards the center of the bunker to the platform where the caporegimes had stood on his first day. He could see three figures, one of them crouched on the ground with his hands bound behind his back.

He pummeled towards, chest heaving as he took in the sight before him. Jongin knelt on the ground, eyes wide with fear as he saw Yixing running towards him. Xiumin stood behind him, dagger unsheathed and poised at the bronze skin of Jongin’s neck. Lu Han peered over Xiumin, hands placed on his shoulders and lips by his ear as he whispered to him, no doubt egging him on. He looked up as Yixing’s steps crashed against the metal of the catwalk and his lips turned up slowly into an open-mouthed grin. Yixing ignored him, eyes tuned on Jongin who shook his head once, shutting his eyes to Yixing’s frenzied gaze. Lu Han turned his attention back to Xiumin, once again whispering in his ear. Xiumin’s mouth pressed into a thin line as he nodded. He looked up, eyes skimming over Yixing’s face and landing instead on Yifan where he stood frozen by the door. 

“Forgive me, Yifan,” he called out. Then, he moved.

Yixing stumbled, knee skimming on the ground as he fell. His breath came in heavy gasps as he rested his weight on his palms, refusing to look at the platform. He refused to look up and see Jongin’s name spelled out in red across the concrete, refused to see his body sprawled on the platform as Yifan’s voice grew louder and louder behind him. Instead he focused his energy on keeping his face calm, empty. He focused on staying at least somewhat upright despite his limbs screaming at him, acid burning through his muscles, bones trying bend him in on himself. He latched onto Yifan’s voice, letting it tie him to the space around him lest he lose himself in his grief.

“MINSEOK,” Yifan thundered, storming towards the platform. It took Yixing a moment to realize he didn’t recognize the name, and another to understand that Xiumin was, of course, an alias. He looked up in time to see Yifan reach the shorter man and grab his shirt collar in his fist. 

“I’m sorry, Yifan-ah,” Xiumin repeated. Yifan shook his head, teeth gritted.

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Minseok,” he snapped. “He was just a boy. He was _just a boy_. I told you I would handle it! I told you when we found the traitor, I would take care of it.”  
“I had to-”

“Had to what?” Yifan turned to Lu Han, who stood in the corner with his arms crossed behind his back and a pleasant smile still present on his face. Yifan jabbed a finger towards him. “You had to listen to him? After all these years, you listened to him.” 

“Oh, but of course he did,” Lu Han sang from his corner. Yifan held a finger up to him and Yixing could have sworn he saw a muscle twitch in Lu Han’s face but that damned smile of his didn’t falter. 

“This was murder, Minseok,” Yifan started. “One which we gain nothing from.” Xiumin said nothing. Instead, he handed his dagger to Yifan, blade still wet with blood. 

“Then punish me, Yifan,” he said, meeting Yifan’s angry gaze with his steady one. “Kill me, so I don’t have to live with this anymore.”

“Minseok -”

“No,” he said, and this time Yixing detected an unsteadiness to his tone, and he could tell by the way Yifan stiffened that he had heard it too. “I murdered a boy. I did. And it wasn’t the first time either. This world, this life that we live, all it is is petty murder. For God’s sake, I _torture_ people for a living! I torture them, I push them to the brink of death and then I pull them back from it. And I let them taste the edge of freedom just to push them back down again. I make people’s lives worse than their deaths and in the end I just kill them anyway.”

“I won’t kill yo-”

“But not for you,” Xiumin interrupted, placing his hand on Yifan’s shoulder. “Not for you, never for you. I wouldn’t kill in your name, please know that. But for _him_ ,” he hissed, head tilting back slightly to where Lu Han stood, amusement coloring his face. “He’s poisoned me, Yifan, he’s pushed me so that I can’t see reason anymore. I kill and torture and I like it, Yifan, I _fucking_ like it!” He grabs Yifan’s hand, moving it so that his own dagger is pointed at is heart. “Kill me, please.” Yifan shook his head firmly, trying to pry his wrist from Xiumin’s grip.

“No,” he whispered. “Minseok, I won’t.”

“Well,” Lu Han interrupted cheerily. “This has been fun, really.” He moved closer to the two of them, twirling his own dagger in his hand, watching the dim light reflect off the polished silver. He stopped it, letting the sparkling red hilt face up as he gripped the blade in his fist. “Unfortunately, Yifan, if you won’t kill Xiumin...” He pulled his hand back and Yifan shot forward, eyes going wide as he screamed for Lu Han to stop, but his scream came too late. The dagger arched up, cutting into Xiumin’s back, crimson blood spilling out from the wound. “I will,” Lu Han finished. Xiumin gasped but the sound seemed to get lost in the blissful smile lighting across his face. He fell gracefully, body thudding down at Lu Han’s feet. Yifan recoiled, letting out a scream somewhere halfway between rage and agony, a sound that hit Yixing in his chest like a knife, sinking down into the wound left behind by Jongin’s death, tearing it open so that the hollow pain brought tears to his eyes. Yifan sank down next to Xiumin’s lifeless body, hands shaking as he reached out for his corpse. 

“I will not stand for weakness,” Lu Han said, stepping over Xiumin’s legs and walking past Yifan. He stopped halfway between Yifan and Yixing, looking back and forth between the two of them. “The boy was not working alone,” he said. “Find me the other traitor.” He kept walking, passing Yixing and leaving the warehouse altogether. As soon as the door shut behind him, Yixing heard a choked sob escape Yifan. His head was bowed over Xiumin’s body, shoulders shaking as tears rolled down his face. Yixing crawled towards him slowly, not trusting his legs to carry him all the way over. He stopped next to the crying boy, letting his arms circle around his waist. He buried his head under Yifan’s arm so that it rested against his chest, and only then did he let his few silent tears fall.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yixing buried the bodies alone.

At least, Yifan assumed he had buried them. They had stayed next to the corpses for a few minutes, letting their grief overpower their senses, but soon enough they pulled away from each other and surveyed the damage that had been done. Yixing patted Yifan’s thigh without looking at him, then stood up and dusted his pants off. There was an odd look on his face, the almost robotic professionalism, the existence of which Yifan had nearly forgotten about. Yixing had left the platform for a moment, going off into one of the adjoining rooms and coming back with two fresh linen sheets. He rolled the bodies into each one, then slowly worked on pulling them outside.

“Let me help,” Yifan had asked quietly, but Yixing had merely shaken his head. “Xing, let me help you.” 

“Yifan, please,” he said. “Please, just leave me alone for a little bit.” 

Yifan had felt the sting of pain at his words but he had let him continue his solitary work. Now he sat in Yixing’s room, fingers playing with the silk covers on his bed. Yixing had been gone for two hours, no doubt taking care of the bodies and scrubbing the blood off the platform. Yifan could feel his anxiety mounting as he waited for him to return. He laid down on the bed, staring at the intricate gold patterns painted onto the ceiling. His eyes began to feel heavy as he traced the gold vines across the dark brown plaster.

Finally, the door creaked open. Yifan turned sleepily towards the figure standing in the doorway, exhaustion turning his vision fuzzy. “Yixing,” Yifan whispered, but he didn’t answer as he climbed into bed next to him. Yixing merely turned to face the wall, pulling the covers up to his chin as he ignored Yifan. “Yixing,” he repeated more firmly. “Yixing,” he tried again. “Talk to me.” He was greeted with silence. He inched closer so that his forehead met the back of Yixing’s hair. He smelled off, like sweat and dirt and blood instead of the usual sweet scent that radiated off of him. “We have to find the other traitor before Lu Han does. They’ll be killed otherwise.” Yixing refused to talk, inching ever so slightly farther away from Yifan.

“Xing Xing,” he tried again, voice soft as his hand reached out to run down Yixing’s back. “Talk to me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because...” Yifan stumbled, confusion and fatigue turning his thoughts to mush. Yixing only sighed, reaching his arm back and taking Yifan’s wandering hand in his own. 

“You knew Lu Han and Xiumin were looking for a traitor,” Yixing said suddenly.

“When I woke up, Lu Han sent for me. Said someone had tried to break Jongdae out and he was going to send Minseok to take care of him. I told them to wait. I told them not to kill him.”

“And Jongdae?”

“Dead,” Yifan whispered, wincing as he recalled the butchered body, covered in lacerations with the skin tinted a vicious red from all his blood. Lu Han had delivered the initial wound, but it was Minseok’s own handiwork that done away with Jongdae in the end. “Lu Han made Minseok kill him.” Yixing shuddered under Yifan’s touch.

“Why did you come get me,” Yixing asked. “When Lu Han and Xiumin had Kai... why did you come find me. He was a traitor. You would have had to kill him anyway.”

“We could have found another way to handle it,” Yifan argued, though in his heart he knew there was no other way. Yixing seemed to guess this as well. He ran his thumb along the back of Yifan’s hand absentmindedly. “I panicked. I didn’t know how to stop them because...”

“Because you shouldn’t have been stopping them,” he said. “Neither of us should have been stopping him. There was no other way. You came to me because you didn’t want to kill him and you knew I couldn’t see him die. And now you want to save the other traitor too. Why? What will you do when you find him, will you help him escape? Even if he betrayed you, betrayed everyone here?”

“What are you saying, that you don’t want to help him?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Then what?”

“Never mind, Yifan,” he snapped, growing silent once more.

“Don’t shut me out, Yixing,” Yifan said. 

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you love me.” Yixing’s hand stiffened.

“Go to bed, Yifan-ah,” he whispered, before falling silent again.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time had always had a way of slipping through the cracks of Yixing’s brain. The ticking of clocks often got lost behind the steady beating of his heart until time got buried under the weight of his existence. He was prone to being late, used to forgetting how long he’d gone without sleep or food or a comforting hand telling him to step back from the mess in his mind, to come back down to earth for a while. But there were moments in Yixing’s life where time seemed to slow and the rhythm of the earth’s steady turning matched the racing of his heart. These were moment he remembered with perfectly clarity, events in which he could recall every second with incredible accuracy. Tonight, Yixing could point out the position of every star in the sky and the exact second they stopped shining. He could pinpoint every speck of blood on the cold concrete of the warehouse and the precise moment it had hit the ground and could recall the very instant at which the light had left Jongin’s eyes.

At 5:03 P.M., Yifan had barged into his room, shaking him awake a mere twenty minutes after he’d fallen asleep. At 5:06 P.M., Yixing had bolted down the now familiar hallways to save a boy who had too many people waiting on him at home. At 5:15 P.M. Yixing had watched the promise of death slowly circling Jongin as he waited for his fate on his knees. At 5:17 P.M. Yixing saw the flash of silver digging into bronze skin and painting the world red, and a minute later he had seen the light leaving Jongin’s eyes. At 6:01 P.M. he had pulled himself off Jongin’s lifeless form, passed a hand over Yifan’s still sobbing head, and left to find something to wrap the bodies in. By 6:30 P.M. he had dragged both corpses outside of the base and had a phone out to call Junmyeon and let him know that Jongin wouldn’t be making it home. By 7:05 P.M., the man Junmyeon had sent had collected the bodies and coaxed Yixing into filling out a brief incident report. At 8:05 P.M., Yixing was back in his room.

Now, Yixing was in his bed staring at the ceiling with tired eyes. He had slept only for an hour before his aching mind had awoken him again, the clock on his bedside table burning the time onto his eyelids. It was 9:05 P.M. but the lack of windows in his room made the concept of night and day too foreign for his fatigued mind to comprehend. Nighttime was a time for waking here, but Yixing couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed nor could he drift back to the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. Instead, he turned to Yifan and ran his thumb across his smooth cheek, admiring the way the red light of his alarm clock cast shadows across his sculpted features. Yifan was citrine and dark blue in the dim light of the room, violet shadows settling into the hollows of his collarbones, sinking into the space beneath his eyes, and seeping into the roots of his pale blonde hair. Yixing realized Yifan hadn’t changed before collapsing on his bed. The sleeves of his white suit jacket were stained red with blood. He frowned before shifting slowly closer to Yifan so he could help the sleeping man shrug out of his clothes. Yifan mumbled slightly as Yixing pulled his jacket off.  
“What are you doing, Xing?” he whispered, eyes still closed and face pressed into his pillow.  
“Nothing, Fan Fan,” Yixing said. “Keep sleeping.” He heard no complaint from Yifan as he finally slipped the jacket off, and after a moment, Yixing heard his quiet, rumbling snore building in his chest. He sighed, pushing some of Yifan’s hair out of his eyes before slipping himself under one of his outstretched arms. Time had a way of getting away from Yixing. It snuck through the gaps between his fingers and leaked out with his every breath. _One more night_ , he thought to himself. That was all time would give him with Yifan. That’s all the time he had left before he had to break this illusion he’d been building around himself. Yifan sighed, closing his eyes and with his head buried somewhere between Yifan’s shoulder and the the crook of his neck, Yixing felt himself slip back into a fitful sleep.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Yixing stared at the phone in his hand, rereading the message still open on the screen. He sighed, pocketing the phone and straightening his shirt as he stood up. He had slept through the night and he had awoken early in the day and wandered through the base when most everyone else had been in their beds. Yifan had found him in the warehouse around noon and had wrapped his arms around Yixing’s waist and placed a soft kiss onto the base of his throat. Yixing let Yifan hold him as he stood there, cherishing this last bit of contact before he left for good.  
Yixing had been asleep when Yifan had left to deliver the news about Xiumin’s death. He had explained the events of the early evening and asked for a moment of silence for their fallen comrade. Yixing awoke alone in the early hours of the morning and had read Junmyeon's message on his phone with a bitter taste in his mouth. Then he’d left his room, waltzed through the base one final time with the halfhearted notion of trying to find something useful before he left. In the end, he leaned against the wall of the warehouse, then fell into Yifan’s warm embrace.  
“You’re awake,” Yixing said. 

“So are you,” Yifan pointed out.

“I slept enough last night.” Yifan hummed in response, his hand slipping up the front of Yixing’s shirt and resting against his stomach. He shook out the black sleeve of his shirt, trying to adjust the cuff that had risen up too far. 

“Lu Han’s missing,” Yifan said. “When I was speaking to everyone, when I was telling them about Minseok, I noticed he wasn’t there. No one has seen him all day.” 

“Where do you think he went?”

Yifan shrugged, pulling away from Yixing. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll stay gone for a while, let me do his dirty work for him. Find whoever it was that helped Kai and then come back and pull another stunt like last night’s again. Or at least he’ll try to.”

“Yifan, I...”

“But I’m not letting him fuck anyone else over,” Yifan continued, pulling out a cigarette and sticking it between his teeth. He played around with his lighter a bit, watching the flame flicker in and out of existence before holding it to the cigarette in his mouth. He pulled the obstruction out of his mouth before speaking again. “This is beyond going behind my back. Lu Han has gone too far, Xing. When he comes back, I’m going to make him pay.”

“Yifan,” Yixing said again, quietly. Yifan turned to look at Yixing’s brow furrowing at his tone. “I need to talk to you about something.” 

“What is it, Yixing?”

“What are you going to do,” Yixing began carefully. “When you find whoever it was that was working with Kai? We both know that what Lu Han did is what everyone would have expected you to do. When a member betrays you like that, you kill them.” Yifan stared at the ground, smoke trailing up from the cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“I have a responsibility,” Yifan said. “To the society. But that doesn’t mean I like it, Yixing.”

“But when it comes down to it,” Yixing continued. “What would you have done? What was there for you to do other than kill him? What else will there be for you to do than to kill whoever worked with him? There is nothing you could do, Yifan, nothing without turning your back on EXO. Could you do that? Could you walk away from - from us?” 

Yifan avoided Yixing’s gaze carefully. “Why are you asking all this, Yixing?” And those words were enough of an answer. Yixing shook his head, sucking in a deep breath before speaking up again.

“I’m leaving, Yifan. Today.”

“What?” Yifan started, head snapping up to look at Yixing. “Leaving where? You can’t... you can’t just _leave_ Yixing. Where are you going to go?”

“Home, probably,” Yixing said, staring straight ahead at the far wall. He ignored the way his heartbeat had jumped up to his throat, ignored the the shock and hurt on Yifan’s face, and gathered the courage to say his next words. “I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“Lie about what?”

“About this,” Yixing said, gesturing around himself. “About me. I love you, Yifan. But you don’t even know me, not really. I want you to know me before I go.”

“Yixing, you’re not making any sense -”

“Let me finish. I was the one who tried to help Jongdae escape. I was the one working with Kai.”

“What,” Yifan said, face blanching as he looked at Yixing.

“We’re cops, Yifan. Kai - Jongin - was undercover with me. We were planted here to keep an eye on you, to see what you’d done with Kim Jongdae and why. We’ve been leaking information for months, Yifan. And now Jongin’s dead and that’s all the reason the force needs to move against you. They’ll be here soon to raid the base.” He paused, watching Yifan’s face changed as he registered Yixing’s words, watching the hardness return to his eyes and the severity to the set of his mouth. “I lied to you, Yifan. I’ve been lying to you since day one. But I can’t lie to you anymore. I had to let you know. I had to tell you before I left.” Yifan merely stared at Yixing, his face reflecting his confusion, his grief, his anger. Yixing tried to reach a hand out towards the other man, one final touch before he left. Yifan backed away from his outstretched hand, leaving it hanging in the space between them.

“Don’t,” Yifan spat. “Don’t touch me.”

“Yifan...” Yixing’s pleading voice went ignored as Yifan strode away from him, trailing smoke behind him as he crashed against the wall. They stood in silence so long, Yixing nearly went back up to Yifan, almost tried to reach for him again. Instead, he waited until Yifan pushed off the wall and faced him. His heavy gaze pierced Yixing’s heart with shards of ice, filled his core with cold seawater. Yixing braced himself for the overflow.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yixing’s words seemed to hang in the air around Yifan, sinking into his skin like a poisonous gas. No scent, no color, nothing to reveal his treachery, just the slow burn of of his words seeping into his blood. Yifan swallowed down the lump in his throat as he glared at Yixing. Rage was a slow burning flame with Yifan, starting in his blood cells and settling in the pit of his stomach, spreading and building quietly until his hands shook from the very heat of it.

“Have you done this before?” Yifan asked. His voice was calm but he imagined Yixing held no illusions of his being tranquil. His eyes trailed over Yixing’s straight-backed form, fingers twitching around his forgotten cigarette.

“Yes,” came the quiet reply. Yifan laughed, blonde locks shaking as he threw his head back. The action felt like a broken film recording, a twisted, spotted playback of a once loved story. Yixing held his ground though his eyes seemed to shift uncomfortably.

“Yes,” repeated Yifan. “Yes, of course. I should have known. I should have realized it the moment you showed up.” He pointed a fist towards him, cigarette glowing as ash fell to the ground. “So what was all this to you? This place. Was it a silly street gang that was misbehaving?” He scoffed before taking a long drag. He puffed the smoke out of his mouth slowly, as if considering his next words carefully. “This is the most elite association in the entire underground. We are not petty thieves, we are not playground bullies, we are trained killers. We run this city, Yixing, and we do not make mistakes. Yet here you are, right in the middle of the most notorious organization in the city and whose fault is it? My fault. It’s my fault because I trusted you and you spat that back in my face. You showed up in my home, no backstory nothing to trace, and more put together than all of the other recruits. And not a mark on you! Not one fucking speck of dirt, not even a scratch. You were a clean-cut, perfect fucking gentleman, weren’t you, you and your partner? And I picked you!” He stopped, beating his fist upon chis chest, a twisted grin stretched across his face. “I looked at your stupid puppy dog eyes and thought, ‘how bad could this kid be?’ and I _let you in_. Why would I do that, Yixing?” He looked at him with the same cold expression he so often reserved for everyone other than Yixing, but instead of the frigid wall he usually threw up, there was a strange type of fury building in his gaze. Yixing said nothing, merely stared back with a blank expression.

“I bet you enjoyed it,” Yifan whispered after another moment of silence. “Running around, playing spy. Did it give you a rush, gaining my trust? Did it make you feel important? You know,” he spun around, throwing his face into shadow and letting his voice echo throughout the warehouse. “Chanyeol would have liked you. He always had a thing for lying, sadistic bastards.” He laughed, as if remembering some fond memory. “He loved anyone that could play a good game, mess with people’s heads. And look at you, you’d fooled us all!” He faced Yixing again, jabbing his finger at him as his voice got louder and louder. “You got every last fucker here to trust you just so you could sell them out. Yeah, he would’ve loved you.” Yifan laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Until you fucked him over like the rest of us and blew his brains out, right?” Yixing stiffened at these words, hand twitching at his side as he sucked in a breath and avoided Yifan’s gaze. The action didn’t go unnoticed and Yifan felt his chest tighten as he stared down at the fidgety boy in front of him. A sick feeling was crawling into his stomach as he strode closer to him.

“You said you’ve done this before,” he deadpanned. Yixing looked back up and nodded once, eyes black in the shadows. His brow was furrowed and he was unconsciously biting on his bottom lip to stop it from quivering. “No,” whispered Yifan, so quietly that Yixing almost didn’t hear him. “You didn’t. You _didn’t_.” He paced away for a moment before moving back, closer this time. His breath rattled in his chest as he resolved himself to ask his next question. Yixing waited quietly, his face taking on its prior composure. When Yifan spoke again, his voice was low and controlled. 

“Did you kill Chanyeol?” he asked.

Silence.

At once, Yifan was upon him. He pushed Yixing back against the wall, pressing his arm into his chest and leaning over him so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. One fist came down near the younger boy’s face, ash flying off the cigarette that still burned between his fingers. Yixing inhaled sharply but offered no resistance as Yifan restrained him against the wall.

“Did you kill Park Chanyeol?” screamed Yifan, baring his teeth menacingly. Yixing stared at the ground, refusing to answer. Yifan felt his throat constrict and the metallic taste in his mouth let him know he’d bitten through his tongue. He let out a howl as he pushed up, eliciting a choked sound from Yixing as he pressed down on his throat.

“You bastard,” he growled. “You sick fuck.” He pulled his arm back and let his fist slam up into Yixing’s jaw. “You killed him!” Another blow landed home, this time to his stomach. He continued to beat relentlessly into him, his breath coming in gasps as he held back his tears. “How could you?” he sobbed, aiming another punch to his abdomen. Yixing didn’t even flinch. Instead, he reached up to place his hand on his shoulder.

“Yifan,” he whispered and the elder boy grabbed him by the collar, just barely pulling him forward before slamming his head back into the concrete of the walls. Yixing gasped in pain, his vision darkening as Yifan loomed over him. He felt him stir and suddenly there was cool metal pressing into the soft flesh under his jaw. 

“I should kill you,” Yifan whispered, adjusting his grip on the dagger in his hand. “He was my only family, and you took him away from me. _I should kill you_.” His voice broke and Yifan felt the edge of his blade quivering, saw his hands shaking. Yixing moved his own hand up and rested it against his cheek, wiped away the few tears that were making their escape. He leaned forward and Yifan let the blade slide down to his chest. Yixing placed his lips to his cheek then trailed them along to his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Yixing whispered before pulling away. Then he brought his fist down and Yifan felt a sharp pain above his ear. He gasped in surprise and his knees gave out as his vision blurred. The last thing he felt was a warm hand at his neck, slim fingers running through his hair, and cold concrete against his cheek. Then the world went black.


	4. how the light fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where they all meet

Consciousness washed over Yifan like low tide, coming back to him in slow waves stinging of cold. He groaned as his eyes fluttered open, registering the cold concrete pressed against his cheek. He rolled over onto his back, then immediately paused when his arms ended up underneath him, fixed in place by a length of rope. 

“What the hell?” he said to himself, struggling against the rope bound around his wrists. His arms were twisted painfully behind him, the rope twined around his forearms before finally encircling his wrists. He was still in the warehouse, he realized, but the space was unusually quiet aside from his sounds of struggle.

“Oh good,” said a voice from somewhere behind him. “You’re awake!” 

“Lu Han?” Yifan called out. “What the hell are you doing? Let me go!” Lu Han appeared in front of him, twirling his red-hilted dagger in his dainty hand as he observed Yifan. “Let me go,” Yifan repeated and Lu Han chuckled in response.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he sighed. “I think I’ll keep you here, you see, because I have a few questions for you.”

“And you had to tie me up to ask me these questions?”

“Please, Kris, we both know you’re just as likely to kill me as you are to listen to me right now. No, I’d much rather have you at my mercy. Besides,” Lu Han crooked his head, pouting at Yifan. “You just look so pretty tied up.” Yifan sneered at him but his look only elicited a pleased grin from Lu Han. “Let’s get started, shall we? The doors will only hold the cops out for so long.”

“What c-”

“The cops, Yifan, the ones your little traitor set upon us. Oh yes!” Lu Han exclaimed upon seeing Yifan’s wide eyes. “They’re already here. Why do you think it’s so quiet? Everyone’s running as we speak.”

“Lu Han, I swear to God,” Yifan hissed. “I don’t know what the fuck you want with me, but you better let me out right now.”

Lu Han slinked around him, the dragging the tip of his dagger along the front of Yifan’s shirt. His voice was honey sweet and angelic, crashing deafeningly against the shadows of the prison he’d constructed. “You know what I want, Yifan,” he spoke quietly. “Where is the traitor?” Yifan pursed his lips, stared straight ahead at the opposite end of the bunker, rubbing against the ropes around his wrists. It was quiet aside from the sound of leather bending as Lu Han walked. Most of the lights were off and the warehouse was completely abandoned. Yifan couldn’t help but think that the emptiness of it all would crush him, drain him will long before Lu Han could let out his blood onto the concrete floor. He had never wanted to go out like this, whimpering on a cold floor, unable to defend himself. Lu Han sighed, stopping behind Yifan and bringing his hands crashing down onto his shoulders. He bent forward, letting his lips rest against the tip of Yifan’s ear, breath slipping across his skin and sending involuntary shivers racing through him. 

“I will ask one more time,” he said. “And if after that you don’t answer, I will drain your blood onto the ground and find the traitor’s name spelled out within it. He’s in your bloodstream, isn’t he?” The dagger came up to rest against his throat, piercing the skin slightly so that a drop of crimson rolled down onto his shirt. Lu Han stared at it fondly, reverently. “Oh yes, he’s there alright, burrowing right down in your heart, poisoning your cells. But what. Is. His. Name.” Yifan kept silent and Lu Han sighed, bringing his hand down under the younger man’s chin and moving his head up. Yifan stared straight into Lu Han’s doe eyes now, noticing the way the pupils stretched out in anticipation. Lu Han moved closer until his the tip of his nose skimmed Yifan’s cheek, lashes fluttering slightly as cool metal pressed more closely against his throat.

“Won’t you tell me, Yifan-ah?” Lu Han cooed. “I’d so very much hate to ruin this perfect neck of yours.” 

“Please,” Yifan scoffed. “You’re practically drooling, Lu Han.”

Lu Han sighed again, visage twisting into a menacing scowl. “You just never knew when to shut up, Yifan. It’s a pity. I had such great plans for you. You would have fit in so well, ruling over all the idiots with me. What with the control of the underground, we could have taken over Seoul completely. You could’ve been ruling right from City Hall,” he laughed. Then he sighed at the blood running down to soil Yifan’s shirt. “And you always did look so handsome in suits. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to pick out a good one for your burial.” 

“You know what Lu Han, why don’t you take that damn knife of yours and stick it up your tiny little a-”

“Watch your mouth,” Lu Han cut off, tutting softly as he brought his knife up to the corner of Yifan’s mouth, wrapping an arm around his chest. “Oh and... smile for the camera,” he laughed, starting to drag the blade. Yifan winced, feeling the sting of metal against skin as Lu Han scratched just enough to leave a mark. He closed his eyes against the pain, against his fate. He felt the blade vanish suddenly as Lu Han moved around to face him again.

“You know what,” he mused, tapping the dagger against his cheek, ignoring the splatter of Yifan’s blood against his cheek. “I’m feeling generous today. I’ll give you one last chance to give me the name.” He placed the tip of the dagger against Yifan’s chest now, pointing it up so he could thrust it into his heart. “I’ll even count to three.” Yifan glared up defiantly into Lu Han’s eyes, mouth pressed into a tight line. “One,” Lu Han smiled. “Two,” he adjusted his grip on the dagger, lining the tip up with Yifan’s heart. “Thr-”

“Stop!” 

“Always with the interruptions,” Lu Han groaned, turning towards the voice. Yifan felt his heart hammering in his chest, but he kept his eyes trained upwards, kept his face plain and empty. He knew that voice. He’d recognize its sweetness anywhere, even when it was layered with anger as it was now. But Lu Han couldn’t know what that voice did to him, couldn’t see the flicker of hope in his eyes.

Yixing stepped out of the shadows, footsteps heavy against the metal of the catwalk. Yifan spared him a quick glance, needing to see his face if only just once more. His soft features were twisted with barely contained rage. His eyes were dark, lips pulled back to bare his teeth, hands fisted at his sides. Yifan felt his stomach drop at the sight, at the sneer on the gentle boy’s face. “Let him go,” he seethed. Lu Han laughed, clapping ecstatically.

“Oh that’s funny,” he grinned. He turned to Yifan, eyes alight with amusement. “He’s funny. Does he think I’m going to listen to him?”

“I don’t care if you listen to me or not,” Yixing said evenly. “You’re either going to let him go now, or I’m going to make you let him go.” 

Lu Han looked at him disbelievingly, then threw his head back as he laughed. The sound reverberated through the warehouse. “Oh, I should have known it would be you. The little pet,” he said, turning to Yifan as he spoke. “You’ve been getting a little too cozy with the recruits, Yifan-ah. Ah, this is brilliant. All those long hours practicing together in the gym, dragging him around behind you like a little secretary... that is by far the longest form of foreplay I’ve ever seen. Should’ve just cut to the chase and fucked him.” Lu Han laughed, then turned back to Yixing. He held the hilt of his dagger with two slim fingers, using it to beckon Yixing towards him, an amused look still present on his face. “Come on, then. _Make_ me.” 

Yifan watched in horror as Yixing and Lu Han circled each other, Lu Han with his dagger trained on the younger man’s heart. Yixing, on the other hand, had pulled out his handgun and had it trained on Lu Han’s head. Yifan continued to struggle against his bindings, cursing when he realized Lu Han had taken his dagger. He started shifting his wrists instead, trying to loosen the small pocket knife he kept hidden in his sleeve as Yixing moved closer to Lu Han. “I don’t want to shoot if I don’t have to, Lu Han,” he said, keeping his gun trained on the supremely unimpressed looking man. 

“Oh don’t worry,” Lu Han said sweetly. He balanced the tip of his dagger on his finger before grasping the end of his blade in a pinch grip. He moved in a flash, and the dagger was cutting through the air and knocking Yixing’s gun from his hand before he could even react. “You can’t hurt me,” Lu Han finished. Yixing pulled his lips back menacingly before charging past Lu Han and towards Yifan. Lu Han moved quickly, tackling Yixing so that they tumbled end over end onto the ground. He came out on top, pulling out Yifan’s black dagger as he pinned Yixing down and pulled the blade back, read to stab down into him. Yifan howled from his spot on the ground, ignoring the warm liquid seeping out from the wound on his cheek, screaming around the bit of blood clinging to his lips. Yixing cried out too as he shoved Lu Han back, scrambling out from under him and pulling out the dagger Yifan had given him. He held it in a vice grip, training the point on Lu Han, who moved back defensively. Yifan had his pocket knife in his hand now and was sawing away at his bindings as Lu Han and Yixing stared each other down. 

“Just give it up, Lu Han,” Yixing boomed, keeping his dagger pointed towards the man. “Any second now, back up’s going to find us and you’ll be surrounded. It’s over. There’s no point in killing each other now.” As he spoke, Yifan heard the sound of footsteps charging through the halls and authoritative voices calling out commands. Lu Han looked up at the sound and Yifan thought he could detect some sign of defeat in his expression. “Put the knife down, Lu Han.” A door banged open somewhere behind them and suddenly the voices grew louder as a team of officers filed into the warehouse. Lu Han looked around at all of them, then back at Yixing. He laughed again, lowering his weapon and stepping back. The officers moved in around him, keeping their guns trained on him as he continued to laugh. 

“Well played,” he said to Yixing. He kept his eyes trained on Yixing as one of the officers moved closer to him, handcuffs ready in his hands. “There’s just one little thing you’re forgetting.” He gestured around him, eyes glancing over the barrels of guns and coming to stop on Yixing. He smiled again. “I am rather fond of death.” Lu Han moved too quickly for Yifan to process it. Suddenly his arm was pulled back, dagger in hand as he aimed towards Yixing. Yifan’s scream mingled with the sound of bullets as Lu Han’s blade jerked forward, toppling end over end towards Yixing. Lu Han crashed to the ground just as his blade buried itself in Yixing. Yifan screamed again, flecks of blood flying off his lips as he tried to inch towards Yixing as best he could.

“Yixing,” he called, straining to pull himself towards the fallen man. Yixing was breathing erratically, his breath coming in gurgled gasps as one of the other officers stooped next to him. The officer called for help in a panicked voice as Yifan continued to inch closer. He had blood caked on his cheek and some still dripping down his throat. His head still ached and he was starting to feel dizzy as he called out to Yixing. He felt his vision blurring and at first the thought it was tears. But then he felt the familiar exhausting sensation that came from passing out and he struggled to keep himself awake, to keep himself close enough to Yixing to make sure he would be okay. “Xing Xing,” he called out weakly, and now tears were rolling down his cheeks and someone was picking Yixing up off the ground and someone else had their hand on his wrist and another in his hair, pressing cool skin to his forehead as darkness threatened to descend upon him again.

Yifan saw the world in still frames while fighting to stay awake. He saw brilliant flashes of red and blue like fireworks against the black canvas of night. When he closed his eyes, he saw bright violet blooming across his eyelids, twisting into fantastic shapes as someone spoke hurriedly over him in choppy, urgent speech. He caught words like _blood loss_ and _shock_ before sound lost all its meaning again. He opened his eyes again a few minutes later and saw sharp eyes studying him with a calculating glance, and hands moving too fast for him to follow passed over him continuously before he shut his eyes against the movement. When he opened his eyes again, he saw people moving in stop motion through a crowded hall, fluorescent lights shining down on men in uniform, some navy some white, and an important looking man in a suit with a younger boy clinging to him. His wrecked sobs didn’t seem to match up with his jarringly choppy movements. Yifan shut his eyes again, feeling dizzy, and refused to open them even when he felt himself being lifted and dumped onto a bed. Smooth rubber latex trailed across his skin, insistent voices calling out orders while someone dabbed away at his skin. He let himself lose consciousness again.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke to silvery blonde hair tickling his forehead. Yifan’s eyes shot open at the sensation and he found himself staring into the face of the blonde boy he’d seen before, the one clinging to the man in the immaculate suit, tears rolling down his face as he screamed Yixing’s name. He was remarkably calm now, despite his red rimmed eyes, looking at Yifan with the intensity of a scientist waiting for a particularly unappealing specimen to do something worth noting.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yifan groaned when the boy continued to scrutinize him. 

“I’ve never seen a gangster up close before,” he replied unblinkingly. Yifan scowled at him before moving to sit up, his head throbbing in protest and a spot on his cheek smarting. He placed a hand against his forehead, trying to swallow down the pain only to find that his mouth was uncomfortably dry. A clock on the wall read twelve and Yifan didn’t have to pull aside the blinds on the window to know it meant midnight. After all, he never woke up when the sun was out.

“What happened?” he asked finally.

“You fainted,” the boy replied, face stoic as ever. He’d straightened up when Yifan had moved to sit up and he stood now with his arms hanging behind his back, head tilted to the side as his eyes traveled up and down his aching form.

“I can’t believe,” Yifan began. “I passed out _twice_ in _one fucking day_.” 

“It’s a miracle you woke up so soon at all,” the boy scoffed. “With all the damage you’ve been doing to your skull. Do you even walk or do you just get around by bouncing on your head?” Yifan ignored him, but the boy didn’t seem to take his silence as a sign to stop talking. “The doctors said you’ll be alright, though. Just need to rest up.”

“What about Yixing?” Yifan asked quickly. The boy’s face immediately turned down to a frown.

“They don’t know yet,” he said. Yifan shot up immediately and he swung his legs towards the edge of the stiff hospital bed, wincing as his knee banged against the barrier. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to see Yixing,” Yifan replied, staring at the boy incredulously.

“ _I need to see Yixing_ ,” he mocked, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Do you really think I’d be standing here staring at your ugly mug if anyone could go see him? He’s in surgery. They’re not letting anyone inside.” 

“They’ll let me inside,” Yifan argued but the boy placed his hand on Yifan’s chest, pushing him down roughly.

“No,” he said. “They won’t. And I wouldn’t let you go even if there was a chance of you getting inside.”

“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Yifan growled impatiently. The boy seemed thoroughly unimpressed.

“Who do you think _you_ are?” he snarled. “You’re a convict, for one thing, and that pretty much blows any chance of me letting you near Yixing hyung anyway. On top of that, you’re clearly an idiot if you think it’s a good idea to barge into the middle of a _life-saving surgery_.”

“You... I’m going to beat the shit out of you,” Yifan warned. “Right as soon as my head stops spinning.” But the boy merely scowled in response as Yifan laid back down on the bed. He studied the boy as he lied there, taking in his unusually pale hair and lanky, overgrown form. He was young, too young to sympathize Yifan’s plight, he decided. “Listen. Just... please, please try to get where I’m coming from. Please. I have to see Yixing.”

“You don’t.”

“You don’t understand-” Yifan began, but the boy shot up straight at his statement, anger twisting his features as he strode closer to Yifan.

“Oh I don’t _understand_ ,” he spat. “I don’t understand! Do you know,” he poked his finger into Yifan’s chest. “How many times I have heard those words lately. ‘You don’t understand, Sehun-ah, you’re just an intern. You don’t understand, you’re just a kid. You don’t understand, you’re not ready to deal with these things.’ You know what, fuck understanding. Fuck it. I don’t have to understand why these things happen for them to hurt.”

“Listen -”

“No,” Sehun interrupted. “No, you listen. I know all about you, we all do. You’ve seen enough people die. How old were you when your parents died, huh? Seven? Eight? Did you understand then, why they were dead? Would it have mattered if you did, really?” He paced around the room once, collecting his breath as he stared Yifan down. “Jongin. Is. Dead. And understanding why won’t bring him back, won’t make things cosmically right in the universe, and won’t change the fact that it _fucking hurts_. I can’t change the fact that he’s not here anymore just by gaining some sort of superior awareness about the intricacies behind his death. But you know what I _can_ do? I can keep the same thing from happening to Yixing hyung. If that means keeping you away from him, then God dammit, I will keep you the fuck away from -”

“Sehun-ah,” came a voice from behind the boy. Yifan turned his gaze to the man he’d glimpsed in the lobby, taking in his now wrinkled suit and the tuft of his dark hair that was sticking up the wrong way. He seemed to see Yifan staring at him as he patted his hair down and carefully readjusted his clothes before speaking again. “I told you to go home.”

“I’m off the clock, hyung,” Sehun replied. “You can’t make me leave if I don’t want to. I won’t leave until Yixing hyung wakes up.”

“You won’t have to wait long, then,” the man replied and instantly Yifan sat up again.

“He’s awake?” The man eyed him silently and Yifan found himself shifting under his steady gaze. He ignored his question, turning back to Sehun.

“Yixing is awake,” he said to him.

“Then I can go see him, Junmyeon hyung?” Sehun asked, already half out the door. The man nodded, giving the boy a small smile as he half ran out of the room. Once Sehun had left, he turned back to Yifan and opened his mouth to speak.

“Wu-”

“Yifan ge!” said another voice, interrupting the man. Yifan looked up as Tao barged into the room, dark clothes in disarray and unruly black hair flopping into his eyes. He stopped when he saw Junmyeon standing next to Yifan’s bed, arms crossed behind his back as he raised his brows questioningly at Tao. “I, um,” Tao began, taking a second to compose himself. “I’m just an old friend -”

“Yes,” Junmyeon interrupted. “I’m sure that’s it.” He turned back to Yifan, leaving Tao to stare at him indignantly. “Wu Yifan. We’ve heard much about you.”

“I’m sure you have,” Yifan said. “I’m sure everyone’s heard enough about me by now.”

Junmyeon nodded, glancing at Tao, who was fidgeting at his side as he looked at Yifan. “I could detain you, you know. Bring you in for questioning. You’re just as tied to EXO as anyone else we managed to find. More so, really.”

“So do it,” Yifan scoffed. 

“I haven’t ruled it out yet. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” He paused, looking at Tao again, who was staring down at him with uncharacteristically nervous eyes. “I’m sorry, could we have a moment?”

“Could - could _you_ have a moment?” Tao spluttered, looking from Junmyeon to Yifan with a scandalized expression. Yifan shook his head at him.

“Just wait outside for a moment, Zitao,” he said to him. The boy looked even more offended at this but he stalked out of the room regardless, leaving Yifan and Junmyeon alone. Yifan stared at the door from which he’d left for a few seconds, not saying anything to Junmyeon.

“He shouldn’t have come here,” Junmyeon said, also staring at the door. “All of you are wanted by the police right now.”

“He doesn’t think things through,” Yifan said, simply.

“Or he simply cares about you too much to not come back.” Yifan doesn’t respond to this, choosing instead to stare at his hands. “Sort of like how you care a lot for Yixing.” 

“He’s going to be okay?” Yifan asked after a pause. Junmyeon nodded and Yifan felt a weight he hadn’t known was there leave him. He exhales and the shaky breath turned to a short, relieved laugh as he rested his head in his hand. Then he looked back up at Junmyeon. “And... Lu Han?”

“Dead,” Junmyeon said simply. Yifan nodded, feeling a disorienting rush of relief and, surprisingly, grief.

“Can I see Yixing?” he asked, then held his hands up when Junmyeon's eyes narrowed at him. “I know, I know. I’m a criminal, I’m dangerous, I’m the spawn of Satan. But please, please let me see him. Just one last time.”

“Why do you think I’m in here?” Junmyeon asked. “Yixing wants to see you.” Yifan immediately shot up, looking around for some slippers as he climbed out of bed. Junmyeon rushed forward, helping him up as he unsteadily stood up. “You’ll have to be quick,” he said, handing Yifan a pair of pants and a t-shirt. “I can’t give you too long before I have to come looking for you. Yixing’s in room 605 in the ICU recovery ward. Go talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Yifan said, patting Junmyeon shoulder. “Thank you.”

“And another thing!” Junmyeon called after him as he stumbled out. “We never had this conversation.” Yifan nodded understandingly before loping down the hall. 

It took Yifan ten minutes to find Yixing’s room. He passed several busy looking nurses and orderlies, all of whom looked past him without a second glance. Several hallways and one elevator later, he was walking into room 605. Sehun was still there when he entered, and he glanced warily at Yifan before telling Yixing he would see him later. He left the room, scowling at Yifan as he did so. Yifan stood awkwardly in the doorway, taking in Yixing’s tired looking body. He had a hospital gown on and a couple of IV’s in his arm. There was a spectacular bruise spreading across his jaw and Yifan winced at the memory of his fist making contact with Yixing’s skin. He stood and watched for a minute more, unsure of what to say.

“Hey,” Yixing said, breaking the silence. 

“Hey.” They stared at each other from across the room for a minute more. Then, something in Yifan seemed to break and he found himself walking forward, almost falling down next to Yixing’s bed. He reached one hand out to run through Yixing’s dark hair, then leaned forward to place a kiss against his jaw. “Yixing,” he whispered, carefully wrapping an arm across his chest and burying his face in the crook of Yixing’s neck. He felt hot tears stinging his eyes, tried to smother them in Yixing’s warm skin. Yixing shushed him, letting one hand rest on the back of his neck.

“Shh, Yifan-ah, don’t cry,” he whispered. “Hey, Fan Fan, look at me. Look, I’m okay.” Yifan found himself choking back a sob at his words, though it was more from relief than anything else. Yifan realized just how terrified he had been, felt the remnants of his fear in the way his pulse jumped every time Yixing shifted underneath him, every time he reminded him he was still alive. “I’ll be fine, Yifan. The knife missed the vital organs.”

“You’re fine,” Yifan said, agreeing. “You’re fine, Xing Xing.” He placed a kiss onto Yixing’s throat and swallowed down his tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Yifan,” Yixing said. Yifan shook his head, biting down on his lip. “No, I am. I’m sorry for lying to you. But I hope you know I’d never lie about loving you. I need you to know that.”

“I know,” Yifan said, moving to rest his head on Yixing’s chest. His back was starting to feel sore from bending over Yixing’s bed but he ignored it, craving the contact. “I love you too,” he whispered. “God I wish I didn’t love you. It would be so much easier if I didn’t... but I can’t hate you, Xing.” He ran his thumb over the bruise on Yixing’s jaw, frowning at it. “We both fucked up, but clearly I’m more fucked than you.” Yixing smiled down at him, stroking Yifan’s head with gentle fingers. 

“This isn’t going to work, is it?” Yixing whispered. Yifan looked up into Yixing’s sad eyes.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. 

“I know,” Yixing said. “That I am a cop. And that you are a criminal. Could you turn your back on it, Yifan?” Yixing frowned down at him. “Could you leave EXO?” Yifan shook his head and Yixing nodded, looking up at the ceiling.

“This is my family, Yixing,” he answered truthfully. “And even if I could leave them, it’s too late for me now. I’m a high ranking member. Every job we’ve ever done... the responsibility for it falls to me. I won’t ever be a free man.”

“And I won’t ever be a gangster,” Yixing said, laughing once. “So we’re at a crossroads.”

“So what do you want, Yixing?”

“I want you go to, Yifan,” he said quietly. Yifan’s head shot up, hurt flitting across his face. “Not like that. I want you to go right now, before Junmyeon decides we’ve had enough time together. I want you to get out of here before he shows up with a warrant.”

“Yixing -”

“And I want you to know,” he continued. “That I’ll see you around.”

“You’ll see me around,” Yifan repeated. Yixing smirked at him.

“I’m a cop. You’re a mobster. Could I make it any more obvious?” Yixing sang and Yifan scoffed at him. “I mean it, Yifan. This isn’t goodbye, not really.” Yifan nodded again and Yixing motioned for him to move closer. He placed a kiss against Yifan’s lips when he did, caressing his cheek lightly so that his thumb ran across the fresh stitches there. “Now, go.” 

Yifan leaned down to kiss Yixing once more before leaving his room. The hallway outside was deserted save for a few orderlies. He figured Sehun must have gone back to Junmyeon, or maybe even gone home now that Yixing was awake. Yifan sped through the halls, stopping outside the room where he’d been before in hopes of running into Tao. He found him lurking at the end of the hall, grabbed his arm, and pulled him towards the nearest exit. 

“Ge, where are we going?” Tao asked.

“We have to leave, Zitao,” Yifan answered simply.

“What about Yixing?”

Yifan paused by the exit, looking back the way he’d came before speaking again. “I’ll see him around,” he said, and then he dragged Tao outside and disappeared into the night.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yixing shifted impatiently as Junmyeon drawled on and on from behind his desk. The past few weeks had been a blur of paperwork and questions and one particularly painful day during which he’d had to see Jongin’s body lowered into the ground. He had recovered miraculously from his injury, but he still felt a phantom ache in his abdomen which wasn’t lessened by having to stand still for so long. The only other seat in the office was occupied by a small, tired looking man with dark hair neatly and professionally gelled down. He wore a coal black mourning suit and had eyes that were bloodshot from crying.

“I am very sorry for you loss, Baekhyun-ssi,” Junmyeon was saying. “And I’m sorry you have to sit here and listen to the debriefing, especially right after Jongdae-ssi’s funeral.” 

“No,” Baekhyun said hoarsely. “I wanted to listen, after all. I wanted to know what they did to him.” Junmyeon reached out and placed his palm over the hand Baekhyun had left on his desk. Baekhyun merely nodded at him, biting his lip as tears threatened to spill again. Junmyeon exchanged a few more words of comfort with the grieving man, then escorted him outside the office. Yixing stayed standing as he waited for him to return.

Junmyeon came back in and passed a hand over his face before sinking down into his chair. He fiddled with a few papers and rearranged a few files on his desk, avoiding Yixing’s gaze. He sighed, resting his head in his hands again.

“He looked upset,” Yixing said, referring to Baekhyun.

“His advisor, and beyond that, his oldest and dearest friend is dead. He’s devastated,” Junmyeon answered curtly. He continued rearranging his desk, finally pulling out a slim wooden box before speaking to Yixing again. “Well, you’ve been debriefed. You’re done for the day. Go home, get some rest.” Yixing nodded and started to move towards the door when Junmyeon stopped him again. “Wait,” he said, opening up the wooden box and pulling out a thin black dagger. “Could you put this back in the evidence box on your way out?”

Yixing eyed the obsidian blade silently, considering his next words carefully. “Actually sir,” he began. “I was wondering if I could keep that.” Junmyeon stiffened, the hand around the dagger growing white. 

“Might I remind you that you are already under investigation from the department for neglecting your duty?”

“There’s no more evidence to be found from it. You and I both know that.” Junmyeon nodded, eyes narrowing as he stared at Yixing.

“Very well,” he finally said. He held the dagger out to Yixing, pulling back slightly when he extended his palm to receive it. “Tread carefully, Zhang Yixing.”

“Yes sir,” he nodded solemnly as Junmyeon dropped the dagger onto his palm. Yixing unsheathed it, ran his thumb along the familiar edge of the blade. He smiled at the blade, thinking just how remarkably the delicately thin edge seemed to suit him. Yixing was balancing on the blade, one foot pressed against the thin edge as he tried not to topple over, a hundred meter drop below him if he did. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yixing?” Junmyeon asked pointedly.

“Yes sir,” Yixing said as he stared down at the blade. With a final nod, he moved towards the door. “Bright and early.” He shut the door behind him, spinning the dagger in his hand as he left. Then smiled down at the blade, tucked it into its sheath, and left.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yifan has somehow managed to find himself on a roof again. He and Tao had retreated to D.O.’s old family apartment after the raid, setting up base there while police ransacked the old headquarters. It had been three months since he and Tao had moved in, and Yifan often found himself feeling restless in the cramped suite. It was late afternoon when Yifan had climbed up to the roof to catch the last few rays of sun before they disappeared beyond the horizon. He stood in the shade of some crates piled high in the center of the roof, a tarp drawn over them to keep them dry. He blew out a few puffs of smoke, flicking ash off his cigarette as he pulled his coat closer to himself. Yifan checked the time on the watch on his wrist just as he heard the sound of a door creaking open somewhere to his right. He took another drag, then exhaled deeply, holding the cigarette loosely in the crook of his fingers, holding it out from his body to watch the smoke trail upwards into the sky as he waited. He heard the dagger before he saw it, the whistling of it piercing through the air hitting his ears before the point flew past his outstretched hand. He turned to see it embedded in the crates behind him, his cigarette fizzling out on the ground.

“Your aim’s getting better, Yixing-ah,” Yifan said, crushing the still-smoking thing under his foot. “But you’re supposed to pin the cigarette too, not just knocked it out of my hand.” Yixing’s arms wound around his waist as he pressed his head into Yifan’s back.

“Working on it,” he mumbled, spinning Yifan around and linking his hands around the taller man’s neck. He leaned up and ran his lips along Yifan’s neck. “Maybe you should coach me again.” Yifan smirked, trailing his lips across Yixing’s jaw, then layering kisses onto his neck. 

“Maybe I should,” he said. Yifan pulled away for a moment, laughing when Yixing pouted at him. He grasped the hilt of the dagger and pulled it out, then returned the sleek black dagger to Yixing. “I believe this is yours.” Yixing grabbed the knife and stuck it back in his sheath before pulling Yifan closer to him. 

“Sit with me,” Yixing said. “I want to watch the sunset with you.” Yifan raised his brows, trying not to laugh as Yixing pulled him down onto the ground, tangling their legs together. The sun was a brilliant shade of orange now, large and hazy on the horizon as Yixing pulled Yifan’s face close to his own.

“I thought we were watching the sunset,” Yifan laughed as Yixing hungrily attacked his lips. Yixing groaned in response, swiping his tongue across Yifan’s lips before rolling on top of him. Yifan pulled back jokingly and tried to get a look at the sun from over Yixing’s shoulder. “Come on Xing Xing, I want to watch it now.”

“Yifan, just shut up and kiss me,” Yixing whined.

Yifan smiled and obliged.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a good 4-5 years ago and I like to hope that my writing's improved since then but .... one can really only hope
> 
> also apologies if there's any grammar mistakes in here but, again, I wrote this many years ago and sadly don't have as much free time to read through 32k to re-edit this :( 
> 
> regardless, I hope you all enjoyed because God knows I'm not planning on writing ot12 fic ever again


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